A Writer's Adventures
by Eryberrie
Summary: Set after the 'pool' scene and continues through series 2. Chapters 34 and onwards beta'd by Siriuslyholly. ASIB over and now onto Hounds.
1. Introducing Alex

Alex Price was a Kentish girl brought up by a single mother and had never needed, or wanted, to live in London. But at the age of twenty-three, when her dream of becoming a published author became true and she was able to rent a place near to her agent and publisher due to her £60,000 advance, she couldn't say no. The landlady was a friend of her mother and had agreed to let Alex have the flat rent-free for six months, provided she renovated the flat and most importantly of all, got rid of the black mould. The place was virtually uninhabitable at that point in time and with the money she had been given, she could easily stay in a hotel until it was ready. Alex thought that renovating a flat would be the best way to take a breather from her recent book tour.

There was a decent hotel five streets away from Baker Street which she decided would suit her until she could move into the flat. She had agreed to meet her mother's friend, Martha Hudson, at her flat that very afternoon that she checked into the hotel. It was the thirty-first of May and the beginning of summer. The cold wind hit Alex hard and stung her eyes as she emerged from St. Pancras. She bent her head as she dragged her trolley away from the building and down the small flight of stairs. She had never flagged a taxi before and didn't quite know how.

_Oh, god, this is so embarrassing,_ she thought. In her small town in Kent she would have to call for a taxi. Not here; not in the big, bad city.

There was a taxi just pulling in and after the gentleman in the taxi got out, she gathered herself together and went up to it before anyone else could. Ignoring the interjections of " That was mine" and "I've been waiting longer than you," she stumbled straight in and told the taxi driver where she wanted to go. "221b Baker Street, please."

"You're not from round here, are you?" the cabbie asked.

"No, I'm from Kent. I'm just moving to London today."

That was it; the end of the conversation. She was used to having taxi drivers who would either indulge in a long and in-depth discussion with her. Either that, or they'd say nothing at all. Never in between; it was one or the other.

It didn't take long to reach Baker Street and the place was easy to spot as Speedy's café took up some of the ground floor space. It was actually 221c she was renting, but the door marked '221B' would be the place she would need to visit. There were three doorbells - which one was Mrs Hudson's? Of course. Alex would be renting the basement flat, Mrs Hudson said something about two men sharing the upstairs flat, so Mrs Hudson would be on the ground floor. Alex pressed the middle button tentatively, in case their positions somehow didn't correspond with the locations of the actual flats, but she was relieved when the little sweet lady she had not seen for three years, and had only spoken to on the phone in the last few days answered the door.

"Alex, my darling!" Mrs Hudson cried, giving Alex a tight hug. "Oh, look at you, you're all grown up!"

"Mrs H, I was 'grown up' the last time you saw me," Alex exclaimed, stepping through the door and idly pulling the stubborn wheels of her trolley behind her Remember, when you visited my Mum on her 40th a couple of years ago?" . Mrs Hudson had to step a fair bit in, as the contents of the trolley were on the bulky side and took up the whole width of the door.

"Erm… oh, yes, I remember. Well, you look so grown up and you've had a novel published! You've done so well."

Alex thanked Mrs Hudson as she entered the lobby of the building. It was rather dark with dark green fabric wallpaper, an armchair in the corner against the staircase that led to the flat above and an old fashioned fireplace opposite. It hardly looked accommodating or big enough to be a sitting room. Alex spotted the doorway to the basement flat and the door of Mrs Hudson's flat wide open next to it. It would be a tight squeeze to get a three-piece-suite down to the basement, but Mrs Hudson had told her how it had been achieved with exceptionally large furniture before, so it was doable.

"Sorry, darling, but wouldn't it have been better to check into your hotel and then come to see me? It's quite a way to bring your luggage."

"It's ten o' clock in the morning, Mrs H; the room won't be ready until about two. It was either wait around at the station, wait around in the hotel lobby, or come and see you," Alex said with an affectionate smile, indicating that it was the third of the options she would have preferred to any other.

The kettle was on and a large piece of cake made its way out of the fridge before Alex could have a moment to breathe after her long journey. She could feel a migraine coming on and her hair must have been in a huge mess. In Mrs Hudson's bathroom, Alex got a good look at herself. Yep, her hair had seen much better days, not just that it was messy, but it had faded to a mousy blonde rather than its normal golden shade and although she always had dark circles under her eyes even when she was a child, they looked even worse. Alex had brought her contact lenses with her, but had chosen to wear spectacles today.

_Ugh_, she thought, my eyes look like they're disappearing. Grabbing her bag and bringing it back to the bathroom, she frantically drew out all the items she needed to make herself look half-decent. In went the contact lenses and on went the lightest touch of make-up. Alex's hair was having none of it as she dragged her paddle brush through her tresses so to compensate, she pinned it into a low ponytail, leaving just the layered pieces at the front to frame her rosy face.

"Ooh, you look nice!" Mrs Hudson cooed as Alex finally emerged from the bathroom.

"Thanks. Not gone to too much effort, it's just that I don't want to meet my two new neighbours looking like I've been sleeping the whole weekend!" She giggled slightly before sitting down to her tea, which had cooled significantly, and to the lemon drizzle cake Mrs Hudson had made especially for the arrival.

"You really didn't have to go to all this trouble, Mrs Hudson."

"It's nothing, really. I enjoy baking, and Lord knows, I make those two dinner all the time, so it's no bother. I'm always trying to get Sherlock to eat more; the man could use a bit more meat on his bones. Although, John eats Sherlock's leftovers, so the food doesn't go to waste."

Alex thought for a second. "They're the guys who live above? John and… who?"

"Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes."

Alex thought again – the name sounded familiar.

"He's a detective. Sees through everything. Able to tell anything from tiny details. I will tell you now, when he meets you he will list everything he sees about you. He calls it The Science of Deduction, which is the name of his website thing. He can be very rude when he's listing all the things he knows about you. It drives me up the wall sometimes!"

"Okay, okay, Mrs Hudson." Alex placed her hand on top of her new landlady's across the table, running her thumb over the fingers to assure her. "I get it."

A few more mouthfuls of tea and cake later, the imaginary manifestation of Sherlock Holmes would not let go and she had to ask more.

"A detective? I take it he's a private detective?"

Mrs Hudson nodded, her mouth full of cake.

"He can tell things about you? Like, what kind of person you are? Does he read body language, or what?" Alex asked.

"Yes, but he can also tell if you're a smoker, a drinker, what you had for breakfast, your career and often your love life."

Alex was intrigued, but she also wanted to learn more about her other neighbour. "What about John?"

"He's a medical doctor, but he mostly helps Sherlock with his cases."

"Can he, you know, 'deduce'?" Alex queried, bringing her index and forefingers up and down in quotation.

"No. Well, not as good as Sherlock. He's got a heart of gold, John; such a good boy!"

"Are they a couple?" Alex pressed, feeling a tiny bit shy.

"I don't think so. They're just good friends. Sherlock is more likely to become Prime Minister than have a relationship!"

Tea and cakes were soon over and the two women stood up pretty much as soon as they heard the faint sound of the front door opening and closing. There were sounds of two raised voices and loud stomping up the stairs.

"I think the boys are back! We'll let them settle down and I'll introduce you, but try not to take anything Sherlock says to heart."

Alex was ready for anything. Years of bullying had made her strong and the wall she had so carefully built would be about the serve its purpose. But surely, the man couldn't be _that_ bad? Mrs Hudson liked him; he had a best friend with a heart of gold and solved crimes. He sounded like a decent person. Alex swallowed the two Ibuprofen Mrs Hudson had found for her and hoped the headache would go away soon.

Mrs Hudson had taken herself into the lobby and was calling up the stairs with a surprisingly loud bark that seemed like she was giving orders to soldiers.

"BOYS! Alex is here, I'd like you to meet her!" From the top of the stairs, the sound of a man's voice answered.

"Oh, sure, she can come up if she likes! Sherlock's busy so he won't come down."

"Was that John?" Alex asked.

Mrs Hudson nodded and as the rest of the house fell into silence as Alex positioned herself at the bottom of the stairs ready to ascend, she understood at once what John had meant by 'busy'. The sound of a violin being played solemnly, yet beautifully flowed through the air, putting Alex into a trance. Her imagination found its feet again. Each step of the staircase seemed to take forever as stories and images ran through her mind. It was as if millions of files were being downloaded at once and she needed to sort them into some sort of order to make a story. The man could really play. She didn't know what the piece was but she didn't care. It was beautiful.

Then, at the top of the stairs, she saw a short, blonde, slightly tanned thirty-five year old-ish- man in a faded cream jumper smiling at her with his hand outstretched. It was a firm handshake, but warm and friendly. Alex instantly liked him and felt that whatever Sherlock had to throw at her, at least there was a genuinely nice bloke to have a chat with.

"John Watson, nice to meet you."

"Alex Price, nice to meet you, too. Thanks for inviting me up."

"Not at all, you're welcome any time at all. Congratulations on your book and everything."

"Oh, thank you!" Alex exclaimed, concluding that Mrs Hudson had told John about her.

They were still stood at the top of the stairs and she had not yet set her eyes on Sherlock, but did notice the partial movement of an arm moving in time to a melody. Then, the owner spoke.

"Don't be absurd, John, not at 'any time at all,' as you put it." The voice was deep and almost menacing, like a warning. _Time to put the wall up_, Alex thought.

John's kind demeanour immediately changed to annoyed and defensive as he slapped his arm to his side, turned toward the speaker and elevated his voice by several decibels.

"Sherlock, she _is_ welcome, it's my flat too! I'm fed up with you dictating who comes here and who doesn't."

"John," Sherlock replied shortly. Alex was in the living room and saw that a tall, dark, curly-haired man who was setting down his violin by the far window was turning to his flatmate, but not before flicking his eyes toward the young woman in the hallway. It was only a second, but given the information that Alex had had disclosed to her earlier that day, she knew that a glance had a lot more going on beneath the surface.

"It is inconceivable that she should be able to enter this flat anytime at all. What if we're on a case or I'm conducting an experiment, or you are sleeping?"

"Sherlock, you're taking what I'm saying too literally."

"Too literally?" Sherlock repeated, his voice ever-so-slightly increasing in pitch. "You said 'anytime' and by 'anytime' you meant 'anytime.'" There was blatant sarcasm in his blunt tone

Alex thought it would be best to intercept before a full blown argument broke out. She would hate to have been the cause of it.

"Sorry, I won't come up here at all unless you _both_ are happy with it." It worked. Both men stopped and stared at her. John smiled, showing the same pleasant disposition he infallibly displayed only a minute before, but Sherlock's expression remained as it did when he first glanced at her. Emotionless, yet inquisitive and calculating. She could almost see the cogs turning in his head.

"Okay, Sherlock, you be nice to her please, I'll put the kettle on. Take a seat Alex!" John called as he turned to the left. Alex moved a little closer, seeing that their kitchen was just off the living room, separated only by two stained-glass folding doors that had been drawn back as far as they would go to give the room an open feeling. There were science equipment pieces strewn all over the centre table and the most striking piece was a large, white microscope. She had seen microscopes before at school, but only basic ones. The one in the kitchen had to be top of the range.

Alex had forgotten that Sherlock was staring at her as she gawped at the apparatus on the table. She flicked her head to the right and noticed that Sherlock had taken a step closer to her. He was just as Mrs Hudson had said; thin. Very thin. He was certainly tall and his smart, black, cashmere suit made him look even taller. Unlike John, Sherlock didn't hold out his hand. Alex didn't hold out hers either.

"You're nervous," Sherlock said eventually.

"Sorry?" Alex said, taking her hands out of the pockets of her grey hoody.

"Your posture is tense and uncertain and you greeted John in a friendly manner, but not me, which says you've already been told about me and the lack of forwardness in your approach says you have put up an emotional partition between us so whatever I may say will not affect you, shall I go on?"

He spoke so quickly that Alex had to think for a while in order to register his question, which she assumed was probably rhetorical. John Watson had stopped making the tea and had feebly been repeating Sherlock's name at him to get him to stop, but he really shouldn't have bothered. It had no effect on the tenacity of the man standing before Alex, summing her up.

"You are obviously a writer; you have ink stains on your middle and index fingers on your right hand: you have been writing on the train journey, probably _poetry_ or a diary of how you are _feeling_. Considering the indentations in your fingers, which suggest you have been holding the pen tightly, you meant every word you wrote and were writing rather quickly, meaning you had a lot to say. Your make-up is sparse, and was applied only an hour ago –since you arrived in Baker Street, no doubt – and you got up so early this morning that you didn't have time to wash or style your hair It would seem strange that you would put make-up on without doing your hair and the ponytail clearly tells me that you found it futile to try to make it look neat given the strength of the wind in London, so you settled for putting it back, so the untidiness isn't so obvious. You had a cake and some tea with Mrs Hudson, one she made herself."

Sherlock made his way to a dumbstruck Alex and touched the lapel of her hoody, before he retracted his hand, rubbing his index finger and thumb together.

"The lemon drizzle cake was made early enough today that it had time to cool down in the fridge before it was served. You had quite a lot, so you didn't eat on the train. Suggests you wanted to get here as soon as possible and had no time to say goodbye to friends or family." Alex had had enough. Clearly the man didn't like her and he had finally done what nobody had done since school – penetrate the wall – and it hurt. She let her gaze drop from Sherlock's to John, who was behind Sherlock left shoulder.

"It's okay, John, I'll pass on the tea, I don't think your friend likes me, so I'm going to go. I'm sorry." Alex turned and hurried down the stairs, feeling her face flush and her strength dented. Behind her, she faintly heard cries of "No, Alex, don't go!", but it was no use. She was back in Mrs Hudson's flat in seconds.

"Oh, God, you weren't kidding about him, were you?" Alex cried. It wasn't just _what_Sherlock had said, it was how. His cold exterior and acid in his voice as well as his intimidating height (Alex was all of five foot four inches) shook her. She didn't feel tears coming on, but another push from him would send her over the edge.

"No, love." Mrs Hudson stood staring at her with her arms folded, not going over to her surrogate niece to hug the hurt out of her. "I did warn you. But seriously, you need to toughen up if you're going to to live here. He's always like that, which is what makes him a bloody good detective. He just says what he sees, darling, he's not judging you personally; it's not to be taken to heart. It doesn't mean that he dislikes you, it's just his way. He does the same to me every day, more or less! I know it cuts to the heart and it's easier said than done, but really, take it with a pinch of salt and expect it. That way, you will be able to handle it."

Alex made her way to her hotel at three in the afternoon and unpacked swiftly, trying and failing to get Sherlock's words out of her head. But Mrs Hudson's speech about Sherlock not meaning anything personally also circled her mind endlessly and John's sweet and kind manner also gave her some comfort. _Toughen up_, she kept telling herself, _you're supposed to be a strong woman, not a silly little girl!_

By four o' clock, the unpacking was done and she was so tired that she didn't know whether to have a kip or go somewhere to have dinner. More of her belongings would be arriving in transit from her mother's home in Kent in a couple of weeks when the flat was ready.

Maybe she had been a tad too sensitive earlier. Oh, what would John think of her? And would she ever be able to talk to Sherlock? She would have to face him sometime, for she would be living at 221C for the foreseeable future.

Five o' clock came around and Alex was still sitting on the edge of the hotel bed with thoughts and theories moving around her head. Could she put any of it down on paper? No, it wasn't imagination trying to evolve a story. It was reality. As well as the new people she had met today, the prospect of being in a busy, congested city, not knowing where anything was and having to make new friends would be both an exciting, yet daunting task. Both the plumber and the electrician that Mrs Hudson had recommended were coming to inspect the flat tomorrow and hopefully they would be able to arrange to have the place rewired and plumbed-in as soon as possible. Next, it would be a case of re-plastering the holes in the walls, installing new skirting boards, door frames and doors, removing all the mould, tackling the root cause of the damp, fitting new floors, painting the woodwork, wallpapering, painting and finally – the icing on the cake – the decor of the flat. Alex had already decided on black, white and chrome for the kitchen, with swirls on the cutlery and the tiles, the living room being in shades of white, off-white, pink and gold and the bedroom displaying a renaissance feel. Bathroom? Blue. Had to be blue. Dolphins would be cliché but attractive and contemporary.

Little had she had time to visualise the rooms as she imagined walking through the flat, when her phone bleeped.

_Would you like some dinner? Sherlock has left the flat for the night to go to Bart's. I'm on my own tonight, fancy a takeaway? This is John Watson by the way._

_He must have got the number from Mrs H_, Alex thought. _Sherlock's where? Bart's? Oh, yes, the hospital_. She didn't take too long to decide her answer to John's question.

_Yes, I'd love a takeaway, thanks. Be there in ten minutes. Why has Sherlock gone to Bart's?_

_There's a lab there and a morgue. He does lots of experiments and sometimes the equipment in the flat isn't enough. He examines bodies too. I often go with him, but I declined today._

Alex didn't take long to get to Baker Street, even though the evening was drawing in and the streets were busy at rush hour. She had to weave her way down the street as if she were in a speedboat in the Straits of Dover to avoid the oncoming pedestrian traffic.

John had Chinese, Indian and Italian takeaway menus in his hand as Alex entered the flat. She couldn't help but look around; just to double-check that Sherlock wasn't there. Of course he wasn't, but it was as if his very essence was still lingering.

"What do you prefer?" John asked, holding up the menus, like a magician asking her to pick a card, any card.

"Err, this one," Alex said, taking the Indian Menu. "I'm starving. Tikka Masala sounds great. And naan bread. Definitely naan bread!"

John laughed and took the menu from her, opting for a Jalfrezi, also with naan bread.

"I'll go and get it; it's not too far away. It gets here quicker if you collect rather than order in, I won't be long."

Alex handed John a ten pound note and found herself, surprisingly, in Sherlock and John's flat, without either flatmate; a situation that Sherlock would not have appreciated.

It was a cosy place; dimly lit, chock-a-block with books, papers, boxes and had display cabinets with samples in them. She sat in the chair opposite the telly, not wanting to turn it on. She wanted to wait for a sign of movement in case Sherlock came back.

Then, there was a noise. The sound of the door opening and closing. _Must be John_, Alex thought. Alex rose from the chair, keeping her eyes on the door, just in case. _Just in case_. As the figure came into view, it was as she had dreaded. Sherlock Holmes, clad in a long, expensive-looking coat, a dark blue scarf around his neck and a grave look on his face the second he appeared through the door. Alex assumed that Sherlock had deduced her presence and John's absence as soon as he came up the stairs. Maybe he had when he came through the front door, or as he was approaching the building. Sherlock had indeed made Alex nervous before, but the second confrontation was unbearable. She was trembling slightly.

"Sherlock, sorry, um, John invited me in and went to get a takeaway. He said it was okay for me to be here…"

Sherlock's grave expression didn't change as he took off his coat and scarf, not letting his gaze leave Alex's face. After he had removed his outer garments, he stood and stared, much as he had done earlier. But surprisingly, his expression softened a bit. Not much, but a bit.

"John doesn't know, does he?"

"Know what?" Alex asked, surprised at the question.

"He doesn't know you're gay, does he?"

_Oh, yes. He sees through everything, so of course he would have worked this one out._

"Err, no he doesn't, I don't think," Alex replied, seemingly at ease.

"Better tell him. Sooner, rather than later." Sherlock's voice, still deep, wasn't as condescending as before. In fact, he really appeared to show concern, if only an ounce, for his friend.

Alex tried her hand at a conversation. Sherlock had taken himself into the kitchen and looked around as if trying hard to find something.

"I'll tell him soon, but just have to find the right moment. I wasn't going to say it today when we first met; it isn't really the type of thing you say when you meet someone!"

"John, like everyone, sees but does not observe, but if he had done, he'd have read the signs himself and come to the correct conclusion."

Sherlock continued his search in the kitchen cupboards for whatever it was he was looking for, while Alex wondered how Sherlock knew. Was it her body language, her wardrobe, her gait, what? Did she dare ask? No, no more deductions. There would be plenty more, no doubt, but no need to induce one. Then, as if reading her thoughts, Sherlock interrupted them.

"You're wondering how I knew."

"Err –" Alex mumbled, not wanting to lie, but not wanting to say yes either.

"When I say 'knew', I mean it, I _knew_ the second I looked at you."

It was Alex's turn to interrupt. "Then why didn't you say so when you were listing everything you saw about me earlier?"

"Well, it's like how you said – it isn't something you say when you first meet someone."

For the first time, Sherlock smiled at her. It wasn't a warm or friendly smile, but a rather charming and a tad patronising one. Still, it was sugar-coated compared to the acid tongue she had experienced that day.

A few seconds later, Alex became rather doubtful of Sherlock's sincerity. Did he really mean to be tactful and diplomatic? Considering Mrs Hudson's warnings earlier and how rude and arrogant he was, would he show uncharacteristic empathy? Alex felt a surge of courage boiling up inside her. Maybe she could go toe-to-toe with the detective.

"Really? Is it not because you thought you would let John work it out for himself and watch him try his luck with me and fail? No doubt you have concern for your friend, but given your rudeness earlier, I'd say I'm right."

Sherlock's smile changed to a sincere look of intrigue. His eyes did not leave Alex's, did not flick up and down nor squeeze with questioning. His mouth formed a rather subtle, yet pleased smile. Turning his head, Sherlock moved toward the back of the kitchen and opened the fridge, fumbling inside.

That was it, the ice breaker. She was no longer afraid of the man. Alex knew that the deductions would come in thick and fast, but she would be more prepared for them.

John arrived back at the flat later than he had anticipated, instantly apologising and blaming punters who were ordering stupid amounts of food. He was both surprised and pleased to see his friend and gave Alex a look that asked her if everything was all right. All Alex had to do was smile in a satisfied way and give an affirmative nod to confirm it. Sherlock in turn shrugged his shoulders at Alex, with his body language sending her a message to tell John. Alex's reply was a raise of her eyebrows, putting Sherlock and his queries right in his place.

John and Alex ate their takeaway chatting over Alex's recently-published book and after Sherlock had found what he was looking for (anti-freeze), he was putting diluted drops of it into individual petri dishes. Eventually, he set to work with his microscope.

It still wasn't right to blurt out to John that Alex was gay and although John flirted with her with a fair bit of effort, she kept the conversation platonic, gently letting him know she liked him, but not in the way that he wanted. He appeared to get the message not long after they had discarded the plastic trays the food came in and had sat down to watch a James Bond film. John didn't seem to mind, he just relaxed and bantered with Alex the way he would with a mate at a pub. Alex thought Sherlock would get annoyed with their talking, but he seemed to be so focused on his work that nothing else mattered.

As the title song played and John stopped chattering, Alex's gaze travelled from the television to the tall man sat on the kitchen stool. Working, working, working. Definitely a workaholic, but not just that. The bloke had such tenacity it was unbelievable; such drive and determination for the art and science of detection it was unrivalled. He was fascinating. Certainly Sherlock Holmes was ridiculously intelligent, probably with an IQ of 200 or something; so observant and quick that he could solve a murder in seconds and could possibly bring a mob or criminal gang to its knees in minutes, but it wasn't these attributes she found the most captivating about the detective. It was his passion, which was hidden behind a cold mask. Yes, it was a mask; or more like a suit of armour with chainmail and a shield with all the gadgets going, but there was a heart beneath it all. A heart that had love and enthusiasm for his work and unparalleled zest which Alex admired most of all.

Mrs Hudson was right about 221C being damp and caked in mould. Alex spent a minimal amount of time there, only doing what was necessary and when she found out that the plumber and electrician would need four days to get all they needed, she was left with four days of absolutely nothing to do.

The afternoon of the day of the inspections was particularly dull. Mrs Hudson had gone out, John was at work and she had no idea where Sherlock was. Alone in 221C, pacing the underlay in the front room, she circled about, trying to picture her furniture, the paint, the border and tried her hardest to visualise where her beloved bureau would go. A writer needed a bureau, most definitely. The lack of writing had given her imagination a chance to calm down and she knew it would take effort to bring it back to life. She knew first-hand that writer's block existed and staring at the wall while sitting at a desk was inexplicably and almost physically painful.

Crouching down by the entrance to the kitchen, she closed her hands in front of her face and let the room fill with colours just like she had designed: off-white wallpaper with pink on the wall being the fireplace with a marbled black mantelpiece; black furniture and off-white curly ornaments, gold picture frames, and –

The door to the basement flat received a rata-a-tat-tat. Maintaining her hunched posture, Alex called out

"It's open!"

She hoped it would be John asking if she wanted a cup of tea or something, but it wasn't. The footsteps were steady and precise, obviously belonging to a statuesque being. The black leather shoes, the perfect iron-creased trousers and the flaps of a long coat appeared first, followed by the full length of the coat, a pale face and a mass of dark hair.

Alex glanced at Sherlock, but didn't move. The room was still being painted and formed, she couldn't snap out of it for a while. Her gaze moved to the floor, striving to imagine what would be the best texture for her feet.

"Alex," Sherlock said, still with his hands in his pockets, as if it were cold. "What are you doing on the floor?"

"I'm debating whether to have laminate or carpet."

Sherlock pursed his lips, ran his eyes over the ground and then looked at Alex. "Laminate," he said like it was the only option.

"Really?" Alex asked, coming out of her trance and standing up to walk towards him, still eying the floor.

"Really," Sherlock answered. "Less hoovering, easy to keep clean, doesn't absorb the toxins from the air like carpet does, doesn't lose its colour and goes with virtually anything." It was like he was trying to sell it in a shop.

Alex wasn't buying it. She, too, pursed her lips and considered the room for a moment. Clapping her hands together she announced her decision. "Carpet it is! Right, Sherlock, what can I do for you?"

Initially looking puzzled by her decision, Sherlock finally took his hands out of his pockets. "Have you got some free time? John is working late and Scotland Yard have contacted me to confirm that they have found a body. I'm needed at the crime scene, and I need an assistant."

Alex was more than surprised. Shocked, even; so much so that she had to hold her hand to her mouth to stifle her laugh.

"Funny?" Sherlock looked almost offended.

"You need me," Alex pointed to herself, "to be your assistant? To go and see a _body_? Oh my God!"

"Yes, that it what I am asking."

"I've never seen a dead body –" Alex said, realising that it wasn't a story, it was real.

" It'll be fine. So, are you busy?" The prospect of adventure was overwhelming.

"Not anymore!" Alex told him.

Sherlock hailed a cab effortlessly and they travelled all the way to Chiswick without exchanging a word. Alex was drinking in all the sights of London; the urban landscape and ever-changing canvas. Extremely aware of the tall man beside her, she deliberately didn't look at him. She wouldn't know what to say to him. Her BlackBerry poised on the notebook section, she prepared to take down whatever was needed.

Sherlock came to her side very quickly after he had disembarked the taxi and immediately clamped his hand over her phone, pushing Alex's hand down.

"You won't need this. Just stick by me; help me make a point," he hissed, keeping his lips together as if ventriloquizing.

It was a nice suburban road. A cul-de-sac. The police had sectioned off a portion of the road. There was a large magnolia-coloured house near the turning circle at the end of the road which was swarming with officers in paper suits. Sherlock walked, or rather swaggered, briskly toward it, as if he owned the road. Within seconds, a thin, curly haired woman with a screwed-up expression blocked his path.

"Did Lestrade phone you, Freak?"

"Ah, Sally, always so polite and courteous. Lestrade phoned me, yes, and asked me to come here. Is there a problem?" Sherlock's response dripped with venom and contempt. Alex didn't notice it as much as the animosity that the woman had greeted him with. And what had she called him?

"Fine. Lestrade, Freak's here, he's coming in," she muttered into her walkie-talkie.

She had, she had called him a Freak! Why, what was the issue there? Alex hated any form of bullying or discrimination. A Freak? Absolutely not. Sensing a strong urge to stick up for her housemate, she glared at the woman right in the eye as she turned around after announcing Sherlock's presence.

"So, where's your boyfriend? Had a tiff? And who's this?" Sally pointed rudely to Alex. Big mistake. Sherlock went to interject, but it was not going to happen.

"This," Alex pointed at herself, "has been invited here by Sherlock and I'm not leaving until I am told to."

Sally's furrowed eyebrows intensified. She clearly had issues with Sherlock and definitely had an attitude problem.

"Lestrade!" Sally called out, tilting her head to her left without letting her eyes leave Alex's.

"Freak's brought this along."

A grey-haired man approached and turned instantly to Sherlock.

"John not here? Who is she?"

"Alex Price; she is my stand in for today, John is working."

The senior officer, Lestrade, nodded his head in contemplation, keeping his hands on his hips as he looked Alex up and down. She could sense Sally's smirk building, expecting her superior to tell Alex to leave the scene.

"Okay, if you trust her, I trust her. Greg Lestrade," the officer said as he shook Alex's hand.

Taking one last glance at Sally's less-than-satisfied face showing the tell-tale signs of a lost battle, she let the smugness show a little. It was equally shared by Sherlock, who gave Alex a nod and a smile as he turned to walk through the front door of the building. A smile of approval; of liking. She could sense the trust he had in her and, knowing that, Alex had complete faith in Sherlock.

"Is she always like that?" Alex asked quietly as they climbed the stairs in the house to where, she was just realising, a body lay waiting for them.

"Whenever she sees me."

"Well, she was bloody rude to me and she didn't know me," Alex said.

"You're with me and, if anyone is with me, they get the same treatment from the lovely Sally Donovan."

Alex had to smile at that. The man had a wicked sense of humour underneath it all.

The blood was what was most noticeable as they approached a wide, rather grand landing that had two corridors and four rooms off it, as the door to the nearest bedroom was gaping wide open and a splatter of blood covered the wall. Alex felt a little nervous as she approached.

Sherlock nonchalantly entered the room as if he were walking into a board room that he was the chairman off, slipping off his leather gloves to don surgical ones. There was only one splatter of blood on the wall, but there was a lot on the floor around the corpse of a young woman who was face down, her brown leather handbag still clasped at her waist. The back of her head looked concaved, as if dented with something.

Sherlock was walking around the woman with a very small magnifying glass that he held with both hands, twisting and turning it, bringing it closer and further away; moving so quick that Alex was sure he had not given himself enough time to collate all the data. All she could do was stare – stare at the poor dead woman, who was certainly no older than Alex was, who had the life knocked out of her by some bastard. What made it more unbearable was Sherlock's detached manner. But maybe that was it. If Sherlock were to be affected by such a scene, would he be able to be the fantastic detective that he obviously was?

Gathering her senses and trying to push away her uncertainty, Alex stepped forward bravely, only to be stopped by a greasy-looking man in a plastic suit.

"No interfering with the body without these." The man handed a pair of gloves to her. She wondered why the police had not made her or Sherlock wear a plastic suit, but took the gloves without question. The man folded his arms and turned contemptuously towards Sherlock. Alex could sense the same loathing oozing from the pores of this man as she did from Sally's eyes and voice. They both hated him.

"One more minute, Freak," said the man, which fell on deaf ears to whom it was intended.

Less than ten seconds later, Sherlock stood up very swiftly, peeling off his gloves as if he couldn't get them off quick enough and smiling at the body as if to appear to thank her for the information he had received.

"Got what you need?" the man asked Sherlock. Alex was almost surprised when the F word was not mentioned, half-expecting a more derogatory expletive.

"Oh, just the usual, Anderson. Probably would have known more than you from just a photograph of her handbag, but one would expect a man with an IQ lower than a bowl of cereal to see what's in front of his nose."

Alex winced. She was certainly on Sherlock's side, but the insult was a tad over the top.

Sherlock then took out his BlackBerry and began to take numerous photos of the woman, the blood, the room, the dresser under the French window, the open wardrobe and the gaping wound at the back of the woman's head. Alex had not touched a thing and did not wish to, but did not even attempt to remove her gloves.

"Right, time's up, Freak, please leave." Anderson moved to his right to allow Sherlock to pass but, of course, the brilliant detective could not be owned.

"Lestrade will give me as long as I need, now if you don't mind…" Sherlock abruptly slammed the door in Anderson's face, provoking a cry from behind it. Alex knew that it had hit him right in the nose, but for using the F word again, it was rightly deserved. However, she felt too unnerved to smile. The poor, young woman with blood-soaked blonde hair had her full attention. Who could have committed such a grotesque crime?

"Alex, what do you see?"

Alex didn't respond.

"Alex?" Sherlock asked again, elevating his voice slightly. "What do you see?"

"Err…" Alex could only say the very obvious. "A, er, dead woman on the floor, blood all around her, but some splattered up the wall…"

"Good, what else?" Sherlock pressed. Alex knew that he was trying to pluck any skills of deduction out of her, but she knew that he wouldn't succeed. Pitting his intellect against the less intelligent would be just another way of putting himself on a higher pedestal. Alex decided not to bite.

"Err, that's it." She felt tears welling in her eyes. Her mind couldn't help it. Images and even voices rushed through it. The writer in her couldn't resist using the stimulus in front of her to create a story. She fought it, as if it was the Minotaur, but she was no match for her beast of an imagination.

"That's it?" It was only then that Sherlock knew that it was affecting Alex. He knew that she was not up to remembering facts or keeping up with his deductions. Sherlock actually looked thoughtful for a moment and pressed his lips together, obviously deducing the mood of the woman whom he had invited to become his 'colleague'.

"Okay, that's all. I've got everything I need. I need to talk to Lestrade; you go on outside and I'll catch you up."

Alex was rather confused. She expected Sherlock to probe her further for opinions before proving her completely wrong and astound her with his stunning skills of detection. But she was happy to comply with his request and spare the humiliation. Plus, the sight of the dead woman covered in blood had unnerved her and getting out of the ridiculously oversized and overdressed house was a welcome proposition.

It was getting a little dark outside and the lampposts in the street were sporting golden orbs; the headlights of the traffic travelling from left to right at the end of the road giving the place a twilight effect. Clouds had completely covered the sky and it only made it seem closer to winter than it had done the previous day when it was bright as a summer's day.

"All finished here, then. Pretty obvious. Gave Lestrade the details he needs to catch the killer, case closed," Sherlock said as he crept up behind her, totalling ignoring the fact that he made Alex jump out of her skin and that she had her hand clasped to her chest to steady her breathing.

Sherlock was already strutting down the street, hailing the first cab he saw. As if he had waved a wand, it stopped and they both entered hastily.

"How did you solve it? How did you know who it was when you didn't question anybody?"

"All will be revealed in good time. Once we are back in Baker Street, you will find out."

Sherlock was so cryptic and frustrating. Alex saw little point in arguing or enquiring further, but it didn't half burn a hole in her curious mind. Of course, many scenarios were floating around. She longed to rub the writing off the blackboard of her mind and leave it like that, but no – the mind of a writer never slept. Neither did the mind of the detective, evidently.


	2. What Do You See?

**So here is the second chapter, which took a lot longer and more work than the first one. Enjoy!**

The taxi took off, and Sherlock was as quiet and enigmatic as ever. Alex had promised to herself to remain silent but it was proving impossible. Soon, the question bubbled so far up to the service she couldn't hold it in.

"So… you went to the crime scene, had a look about, took some photos, slammed the door in that bloke's face and were able to find out who had done it?" Alex asked.

"Yes." Sherlock said indifferently, typing so fast on his phone Alex could swear his fingers were blurring.

"How did you do it?" She was more than intrigued now. This man had almost superhuman powers and curiosity had got the better of her. No more imagining, she had to hear it from Sherlock's own mouth.

He pressed his lips together and slipped the phone into the pocket of his coat, seeming to contemplate his answer to her.

"I've told you, Alex. All will be revealed." It was a snarky answer. She couldn't help but feel he had some trick up his sleeve.

"You sound like a magician! All will be revealed!" She mimicked, throwing her hands up and wiggling her fingers. Sherlock turned to her, the corner of his mouth stretching ever so slightly.

"Although, I will tell you, as I have previously said about John, it is true of many people – they see, they just don't observe. You saw the dead woman, you saw the blood, the splatter up the wall and the indentation on the back of her cranium. What did you _observe_?" He enunciated the final word as it if were the most important one he had said, and would ever say, to her.

Alex thought back to the room. Was he trying to assess her, to see if she was someone whom he had just described? Or was he just trying to impress? Stubborn by nature, but interested in this man's methods, Alex would humour him – just this once.

"Well, I just remember seeing a bright room, as bright as the exterior of the building, a woman lying dead on the floor…" She paused. She had remembered something. "You said something about her handbag. It was still clutched at her arm. What was it about her handbag?"

Sherlock pulled out his phone as soon as she first mentioned the handbag and had already found the picture. He held up the screen to Alex's face.

"What do you see?" He asked.

Alex stared, and raised her hands to the phone and locking her eyes with Sherlock's, silently asking if she could take the phone from him. He appeared reluctant, but allowed her permission to hold it.

There was an open brown handbag covering the whole screen, on its side with a wallet showing. Yes, a wallet, with the corner of two £20 notes sticking out. There was also a phone, still in its case and also, poking out from the depths of the bag, was the corner of a photograph. What she could see of the photograph was the arm of a woman cradled on the shoulder of someone, but their faces were obscured by the folds of the bag. Alex though for a moment before turning to Sherlock, who was wearing a rather patronising grin.

"There is a wallet in her bag, with two £20 notes showing, a photo of a woman embracing someone else, and a phone."

"Very good. What about the bag? Look at the handles."

She diverted her eyes to the handles that Sherlock was talking about. One of them seemed lower down the arm than the other, and slightly creased. Had someone tried to get it off her?

"One is further down the dead woman's arm, and looks like someone has grabbed it, tried to get it off her."

"Excellent." Sherlock said, reaching over and taking his possession back as if it were the most precious object he had. Alex was perplexed.

"So, is that it?"

"No."

Alex felt frustrated with this man. He was so charming and interesting, but arrogant with an ego that seemed to be so big that it filled the cab, threatening to suffocate her.

"Well… what, then?" Sherlock sharply turned his head to her.

"Nothing for the moment. Wait till we get back to Baker Street."

It was getting dark, past eight in the evening. John had finished his stint at the surgery he was working at, but he had texted Sherlock to tell him that he was meeting someone called Mike Stamford for a pint, so he was going to be home later than agreed. Alex was kind of hoping John would be back. She didn't want to be given the third degree about how unobservant she was and have Sherlock give a terrific performance in a one man show about his brilliance.

Sherlock entered the flat, swished his coat over the edge of the open door, and without saying one word to Alex or looking at her, opened his laptop and set to work connecting his phone and printing off the photos he had taken of the crime scene.

"Can I sit down?" Alex asked, mostly out of politeness but knew she would be welcome.

"Unless you have sustained a very serious injury indeed, I don't see why there should be a problem."

"Was that sarcasm, Mr Holmes?" Alex exclaimed, settling in the chair facing Sherlock, who sat next to one the windows of the flat, where she could see the printer on a small table below. Sherlock didn't respond verbally but his eyes widened a fraction, knowing that there was no point in giving an answer.

Alex smiled to herself, flicking her fingers on her lap in contemplation of the evening. She knew Sherlock was going to do more than show off. He had said he had already closed the case, so why focus on it now? Maybe she should ask him.

"Sherlock, why did you ask me about the crime scene back there in the taxi and why are you printing the photos? You said the case is solved."

"It is." He said, taking the last of the large pictures that his printer had produced and rising from his seat. "I want to know if you were paying attention." He threw a devilish full on grin at her before making his way to the kitchen, flooding it with fluorescent light.

Shit… Alex thought. Being put on the spot! It was bad enough that she had to read her own words out loud at her book launch and signings to a crowd of people gawking at her like she was about to announce the new prime minister.

"Come on, take a seat here."

Alex had got up from her chair and turned around when Sherlock patted the empty stool to his right for Alex to perch on, as if it were compulsory and not up for discussion. He wasn't looking at her, like he was expecting her to follow his instructions as he sorted the photos so that they all had a place on the table. Alex saw when she approached the table that many pictures were tilted at funny angles where Sherlock had idly placed them over bits and pieces that had occupied the table. She was sure there were dodgy items under the photos and didn't dare ask what they were.

"Ok, here is the crime scene, every image necessary for solving the case. What do you see?"

"How many times this evening have you said those words to me, Sherlock?"

"Hmm…" He appeared to think but clearly was mocking her. He remembered that he had asked her four times, but she had not given him a complete answer. Alex was capable of seeing more but she clearly had trouble and he was determined to get it out of her.

"Not enough. People don't use their eyes for their intended purpose, nor their brains for that matter. Keep using the phrase 'What do you see?' and they may actually begin to observe."

"A bit like the power of suggestion? Say something more often and it becomes reality in the subconscious mind?" Alex asked, feigning a bit of intelligence but merely paraphrasing what she had seen on telly and read in books about psychology. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at this.

"Do I have to repeat myself? Off you go, have a look." He nodded to the photos with his arms still folded impatiently across his thin torso, not taking his eyes off her.

Alex cast her eyes over the table, and then back to the man to her left who was still staring at her inquisitively. What was his game?

"Sherlock, you've solved the case, why are you showing me all this?"

"I told you, I want to know if you were paying attention." A little bell in Alex's brain rang.

"No you don't. You want to show off and are hoping I'll be wrong."

Sherlock unfolded his arms and almost looked hurt from her statement.

"You already know what happened, so what is your motive behind this? Do you really want me to tell you what you know?" That awful smirk on his face was back.

"So are you going to tell me what I know?" He asked condescendingly.

"Why should I? Why should I even attempt to? You're just going to tell me I've got it all wrong and prove it so, which means I'll be humiliated and not be able to look you in the eye again. Is that what you want to do, make me look stupid?" Sherlock was about to answer when Alex interjected.

"Actually, no!" She said, holding her hand up, "Don't answer that! You're going to say that there is no need to make me look stupid cos I already do." It was Alex's turn to sit with her arms folded. She looked at the photos, nonetheless, and silently tried to figure them out.

Sherlock did not speak for a minute. He continued to stare at Alex thoughtfully, taking in what she had said, knowing that she was right. Even if he had not blatantly told her she was stupid, he probably would have said something to that effect. He tried a different tack.

"Alex?" He said leaning toward her, getting her attention immediately from the soothing quality in his voice she heard for the first time.

"Please, Sherlock." Alex asked shyly, "Please don't ask me to try and do what you do, because I know it'll be pointless."

"Are you sure you don't want to have a go?" He asked, genuinely interested in her answer, wondering what it would be. He really wanted to know how where her imagination would take her.

"No, thank you." She said, avoiding eye contact.

"Humour me."

"I did in the taxi."

"And why did you?" Sherlock asked, dipping his head, trying to meet her gaze. Alex was stumped for a moment and had to really think hard about her answer. She briefly looked at him, seeing his eager expression.

"Because… I asked how you were able to work it out and it seemed like you were just asking me a simple question, but now, you're putting me on the spot and asking me more stuff that I know I won't be able to answer."

"How do you know? Go on, have a look at this one." Before Alex could react, he had thrust a picture of the back of the dead woman's skull in her face. It was an effective trick, using an emotive and shocking picture to shake her up.

She took the photo with hesitation, glaring at the bloody great wound in the centre of the woman's head. Alex then remembered the splash up the wall.

"She was struck once from a blunt instrument."

"Yes, excellent."

"With something that had straight edges?" Alex exclaimed, judging by the shape of the wound.

"What kind of object?" Sherlock asked, becoming more and more interested in this woman's findings.

"Err, not sure, but something small, that someone could pick up and hit her once with. Heavy and hard enough to kill her." Alex looked at Sherlock keenly, seeking approval.

"That's right. What else can you tell me?"

"It was a single blow, so someone actually meant it. It wasn't an accident. Her wallet wasn't touched or her phone. It was personal. The person fled the scene without trying to cover it up, so it was a 'spur of the moment' thing? Not premeditated?"

"Well _done_! Can you tell me who did it?"

Alex knew she had reached her limit and it was time for Sherlock to do what he did best.

"Nope. Sorry, but that's as far as I can go. Your turn." Alex said, really eager to see the very interesting man beside her strut his stuff. Taking the photo back from her, he acknowledged her obvious desire to see him show her what he could do. Excited as if she were going to watch a programme she had waited a long time for, Alex turned square to face Sherlock, who was arranging the photos into order. She did not know whether to feel surprised or a bit betrayed when he produced some more from under a picture, so he had clearly not given her all of the information deliberately. This still did not take away her curiosity about the crime.

"Remember her handbag?" Sherlock said, holding up an enlarged version of the photograph he had previously showed her on his phone. Alex nodded in acknowledgement.

"Someone had certainly tried to take it from her, but they had not taken any of the items after they had killed her. That shows that they had definitely killed the woman on the spur of the moment as you correctly deduced." This was as close to a compliment Alex knew she would get.

"She had something compromising in her handbag. Which was?" He turned towards Alex, knowing she had the answer within her grasp.

"The photograph!" She cried.

"Yes! A picture of her and a man in a romantic embrace. The house she was found in is not hers, it is his. This man's," Sherlock showed her the picture in full, "and his wife's. The dead woman and this man were having an affair, as shown by the contents of the mobile phone."

A photograph of the phone showing a text message with explicit content was flashed in front of her. Alex really didn't need to read it – the image in her head was one she did not want to linger.

"She had gone to the house at a time when she thought her lover would be at work, to confront his wife. But his wife had a prior engagement and the husband was off sick with a migraine. Lestrade found this information from contacting his work."

Sherlock fumbled around some more, trying to find more evidence of his deductions as he continued to speak.

"The woman wanted her lover to leave his wife and threatened to break up their marriage. She went hysterical and he picked up this…" Sherlock showed a picture of a bloody glass picture frame. A heavy one. A blow from that by a grown man would certainly cause a death.

"He hit her once as her back was turned. Killed her outright. He panicked, left the room and took the murder weapon with him."

"How do you know all this?" Alex asked, almost struggling to keep up as he spoke so fast. He was getting excited on his own talent and couldn't get it out fast enough. Sherlock seemed to love being asked that question. His expression relished her admiration of him.

"Cast your mind back. We walked in, you were talking about Sally. What do you remember about the living room? The doorway to the living room was open as we went into the hallway, and opposite that was a sliding glass door to the back garden."

Alex thought hard. Yes, she remembered that.

"What was in the back garden?" He asked her. Alex had to think even harder. So much it hurt.

"There was a… shed type thing." She said, unsure of herself. Sherlock giggled at this.

"Yes, it was a 'shed type thing', otherwise called an outhouse, used for doing the laundry. Something was happening inside it." As if she were there looking right into the outhouse, Alex remembered perfectly what was happening.

"The washing machine was on!"

"Exactly! He had gone to the outhouse to wash his clothes, when his wife came home and discovered the body."

Wow! Alex knew that Sherlock was bloody brilliant, but this good? This was astounding. She felt like applauding, but was far too shy to compliment him. Sherlock smiled at her, affirming that the case was well and truly closed.

John came home at half past ten, a little bit inebriated and flushed in the face. Sherlock was happily watching The Jeremy Kyle Show, drinking a cup of tea (that Alex had made, the second one of that evening), and yelling at the guests as if they could hear him.

"Sherlock! Hello! And Alex!"

"Hello, John. Had fun with Mike?" Sherlock asked indifferently, not taking his eyes from the television.

"Oooh, yes. Had fun. Need to go up to my room now, n-need to sshleeep…" John had turned around in the doorway and was holding on to the frame, clearly failing. Sherlock half-heartedly rose from his chair and made his way to his best friend, who was now leaning against the doorframe half asleep. Alex also arose but saw that Sherlock had his friend under control.

"No, John, you won't make it upstairs." He said quietly, hoisting John onto the sofa at the back of the room and propping his head onto a cushion. He appeared to examine John's face and hands.

"Tequila shots, lots of them. Copious amounts of salt and lime, and stains of beer on the shirt. A lot of alcohol in a short space of time."

Sherlock pulled off John's shoes and threw a blanket that was conveniently laying over a nearby chair over him. Sherlock huffed and sighed his way through this task. Alex had to do the same for a drunk friend before and it was not the most entertaining thing to do. As soon as John's eyes closed and he began to snore, Sherlock strode back to his seat and returned his fixation on the guests on the show, who had started a fight on the stage.

"No! Not her, it's his fault!" He screamed.

"Shh, Sherlock, John's asleep." She said in partial whisper. "Might be best to turn this, and the volume of your own voice, down a couple of notches."

"Oh, it's fine, he's too out of it to notice. He'll regret it in the morning, but it's his own fault." Alex laughed at this. She knew that John would have a very sore head when he would wake.

"Well, I have to be getting back to my hotel now." Alex said, rising off her chair and grabbing her bag.

"Goodnight and thanks for everything." She said in Sherlock's direction, not really knowing what to call the events of that evening. An adventure? A torturous, arduous task?

A cab wasn't necessary. The hotel was only three streets away, even though it was dark and there were many drunks about. Several of them staggered down the roads toasting the air with their beer bottles singing football songs.

As Alex hurried down to the end of Baker Street, she felt suddenly uncomfortable. A shiny black car was driving slowly down the road behind her. The headlights were so bright it obscured the badge on the front so she couldn't see what kind of car it was. It slowed down as it approached her. Alex turned and carried on walking, not being able to shake the feeling that she was being watched.

**Three guesses who it is… Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it. Much luv X**


	3. Who Are You?

**Thank you so much for reading the last two chapters! Hope you enjoy this one too. X**

Alex quickened her pace, taking longer strides and almost breaking into a jog. She didn't want to blatantly run but the approaching wheels of the car were pushing her almost to the breaking point of a sprint. Then, her mobile rang. She stopped dead, shaking, hearing the black car approach her. Mustering up any courage she had, combined with the adrenaline of the evening she had experienced, she turned around, trying to see who was behind the wheel of the car. The windows were tinted, so looking was useless. Alex could see it was a Jaguar, only six months old. It clearly belonged to someone very high up and important.

Tentatively, she extracted her BlackBerry from its sleeve and answered the call, not taking her eyes from the car.

"…Hello?" She whispered, her voice shaking.

"Hello, Miss Price." The voice was a man's. Deep, very posh and flat.

"Who is this?" She asked in a more confident voice than which she answered the call with.

"There will be plenty of time for introductions, Miss Price. Get into the car." The voice said in the same monotonous tone.

"No!" Alex cried, turning her heels and turning off her phone. She ran as fast as she could in the direction of her hotel. Her mobile rang almost as soon as she had disconnected the call. It made her heart beat faster. Her breathing was erratic. Alex Price was well and truly petrified.

The car sped up, overtaking and streaking to a halt twenty yards ahead of her. Instantaneously, a tall man with backcombed hair got out of the car and turned to her with his hand up, the palm demanding that she stop.

As if the man's hand had an invisible shield that protruded from it, Alex halted far away from him, feeling the compulsion to turn around and run, run back to Baker Street, but she couldn't take her eyes off the man. There was something sinister and almost familiar about him. In his right hand was a rolled up umbrella. There seemed little point in having it because it had not rained in over a week and was not due to.

"There is no need to be afraid, Miss Price. I just wish to talk to you!" He called to her. Even his voice had a quality about it that she was sure she had heard before. How did he know her name?

"Who are you?" Alex said, her nerves still obvious but minimally appeased by what the tall man had said.

"A friend." He said with a subtle smile, stepping to his left and turning to the car. Putting his umbrella into his left, he gestured to the back seat of the car with his right. Still scared, Alex didn't move. She knew it was useless to try and outrun him in the powerful car, but felt immobile.

"I promise no harm will come to you." The man told her, this time with real sincerity. He had been rather condescending up to this point and for the first time, Alex felt that she could trust what he was saying.

The interior of the car was as she had expected. Black leather and suede upholstery, spacious and dark, with a screen blocking the driver from view. She strapped herself in and the mystery man slid in beside her, giving her the same grin he had previously displayed. The car began to move. Although Alex longed to know where they were going, she couldn't let her gaze fall from the man who had yet to identify himself.

"Where are we going?" Alex eventually asked, closing her eyes, dreading the answer.

"You will see soon enough. The reason I insisted on you entering this vehicle was to have a chat about the evening you have just had."

"How do you know about that?" Alex was starting to feel nervous again. The man laughed.

"I have ways of keeping tabs on my brother and anyone else he associates with."

It was as if someone had hit Alex over the head with a mallet with that sentence. She breathed in deeply, closing her eyes for a second while she considered what he had said.

"You are Sherlock Holmes' brother?" She realised where the familiarity of the man came from. He was tall and dark like Sherlock, but not as thin, had a more posh sounding accent and didn't speak as quickly as Sherlock. By the lines on his face it was clear he was older than Sherlock, by some years.

"That I am. Mycroft Holmes." He said, holding out his hand. Alex thought for a second before shaking it. She knew that there was no need to introduce herself.

"You keep tabs on your brother and anyone he associates with? Does that mean John and Mrs Hudson as well? Isn't that invasion of privacy?" Alex asked, knowing she had to understand where this man was coming from.

"Not if you are in a position of authority."

"And you _are _in a position of authority?"

"That is correct." Mycroft was proving to be as cryptic as his little brother.

"I note that you have recently had a novel published, which is doing rather well I hear."

Alex was shocked. She had only received her advance six weeks before and had no idea how the sales were going. She was due for an appointment with her agent and publisher soon which would reveal all, but this was truly a shock. Alex had not even visited any book shops or read the reviews she had been so busy.

"Yes, it is true that it is doing well." Mycroft said, noticing her sudden wide eyed look.

"Your hands show you touch type as fast as a first rate secretary and you hold a pen in a very unusual way, resting it on your middle finger whilst gripping it with your thumb. The way you are looking at me says you are rather analytical yourself. You have a flare for imagination and creativity – something I have never managed to get to grips with myself."

"Thank you. But can you please tell me what you want from me? I barely know your brother."

"You know him well enough. I expect he exercised his impeccable skills of deduction as soon as he saw you." Mycroft smiled again, knowing what the answer was and Alex knew she did not need to respond.

"I worry about my brother. He is unpredictable and temperamental. He solves crimes with more tenacity than any other detectives; professional or otherwise. He gets bored when he doesn't have something challenging to… occupy his brilliant mind."

"I see you share your brother's talent for deduction." Alex said, noticing the striking similarities between the two men. Mycroft genuinely laughed at this, the first warm moment she had received from him.

"And you're just as cold. As detached. He didn't seem to care about the murdered woman, and even smiled at her. Is it something unique to the Holmes family?" Alex was worried she had overstepped her mark with this comment, but she had a capacity to speak before thinking sometimes. Mycroft did indeed appear offended and Alex was rather remorseful but tried not to show it. His expression quickly became serious.

"I would be very grateful if you could keep me updated on Sherlock's well-being. Give me information about how his life is, in exchange for…"

"Money?" Alex finished the sentence for him. "I don't need money, I have an advance that will see me through for a while, and spying on someone is completely unethical. I won't do it. Sorry. Can you let me out, please?"

"Not for the moment, Miss Price. I know that Sherlock coaxed some skills of deduction out of you this evening. Very impressive."

"Not as impressive as him." Alex said truthfully, flattered by his comment, but didn't react. He must have cameras installed in 221b Baker Street, and this did not shock or surprise her.

"No. Sherlock has an uncanny ability to make connections with the things he sees. You, however, see things differently. You, Miss Price, can see the non-physical. What lies underneath. It is that skill which I wish for you to observe Sherlock with and report to me."

Alex was still steadfastly against the idea. Sherlock was someone she hardly knew, but she was beginning to like him and would not betray him to anyone, even his own brother. She would do the same for John and Mrs Hudson.

"No." Alex reiterated. "I'm not interested. Thank you, Mycroft Holmes, but I would like you to let me out, please?"

Mycroft looked not perplexed, but confounded that although he had complimented her, she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing what he could easily find out himself. Or was there some bad blood between the two brothers? Mycroft tapped the partition of the car with his umbrella and it abruptly stopped. Letting herself out and walking round the back of the car to the pavement, she was glad she couldn't see Mycroft through the glass as it slowly drove away. Still shaking, and not knowing if there were consequences to her declinature of Mycroft's request, she looked around, trying to identify the road on which she had been left. To her surprise it was the one she had been picked up on, one more turn away from her hotel.

The warm glow of the halogen lamps was most welcome as Alex staggered her way into her room. Taking a few deep breaths as she braced herself against the inside of the door, she knew she had to do something. Opening her laptop, and logging in, she promptly brought up her browser and, using the search engine, typed the words Mycroft Holmes. However, the internet came up with absolutely nothing. It was not able to connect his first and last names into one person. It only brought up other people in the world (although not many) with the name Mycroft, multiple people with the name Holmes, and even companies.

Using a different tack, she remembered what Mrs Hudson had said to her the day before. The name of Sherlock's website, The Science Of Deduction. Alex found the website effortlessly.

It was a dark and rather dim site and on the home page was a brief text from Sherlock. A consulting detective? The only one in the world – of course Sherlock is the only one in the world! It also had his mobile number. Alex thought it was a good idea to put the number into her phone should she need it. She certainly wanted to alert him if his lovely brother attempted to kidnap her again.

But she was struck by the fact that she could not find Mycroft. He would therefore not be on any social network, and there would be no obvious email address for him. One person who would know was Sherlock Holmes.

_Hi Sherlock, it's Alex. Got your number from your website. I feel compelled to inform you that I have had the pleasure of meeting your brother. By force, actually. Thought I should let you know._

There was only thirty seconds time between Alex sending the message and receiving a reply.

_Did he try and bribe you with money for information on me?_

_Yes. I said no._

_Why?_

Alex was puzzled why he would ask this. The most appropriate and ethical thing to do would be to not accept money for favour. Surely, Sherlock would know this? Alex thought about her answer.

_I have enough money and I'm not the sort of person who gives in to bribes. It would also be the wrong thing to do._

_Why would it be the wrong thing to do?_

Seriously, didn't the man understand tact, diplomacy and honesty? Apparently not.

_It's dishonest and deceitful and extremely inappropriate._

_Well done on the use of large words. If he offers it to you again, take it._

What the bloody hell was Sherlock talking about? Take it? This was not going to happen. Mycroft had been told fair and square that the answer was most definitely no.

_I am a writer, Sherlock, of course I know 'large words.' No I won't take it, Sherlock. He's your brother, and if he wants information from you, he can get it himself._

That was it, the end of the conversation. It was getting on for midnight and Alex was not in the mood for anything but a goodnight's sleep. She made a plan in her mind to not visit Baker Street for a couple of days – there was nothing to do with the flat for the moment and she needed to concentrate on her next novel. Maybe John would be up for a cup of tea the next day? He would certainly need it, so Alex decided to sleep as long as she could, even if she wouldn't make it to breakfast in the hotel restaurant. A McDonald's breakfast seemed a much more tempting prospect.

Awaking naturally and slowly from a long, tranquil sleep, Alex stretched out and turned her heavy head to the clock. It was five past ten – far too late for breakfast in the hotel. After she would have her shower and dress, she may not be in time for a McDonald's breakfast. Following a long hot shower, she after all decided that Baker Street would be the best place to go. Her mind was drained from the night before and she knew that sitting down to write would wipe her out. Her body and mind needed refuelling. She hadn't tried Speedy's yet, so this would be a great place to wind down.

Almost instinctively, Alex stopped dead outside of the hotel and scanned the long road for any signs of a black Jaguar. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that it wasn't there, but the goose pimples over her skin told her not to let her guard down. Still with her senses on red alert, her spine tense and achy, she made her way to Baker Street briskly, taking the occasional glance over her shoulder.

As she turned the corner to enter Baker Street and walk the hundred yards towards her destination, a familiar face came into her view.

"Oh, John! Hi, you alright?" John looked naturally startled to see her. He was sporting dark circles under his eyes from the hangover, but there was something else. Something had happened that had got John's back up.

"Yeah, fine." John's eyes diverted to the ground, not totally believing his answer.

"John, are you sure?" Alex asked, growing more and more concerned.

"Yeah, it's…it's just. Sherlock's acting like a four year old again and I just had to get out for a bit." John finally looked Alex in the eye, happy that he had finally got his frustration off his chest.

"Where you off to?" Alex asked

"Don't know. Thought I'd walk off this headache, or for a cup of tea. Where _you_ off to?"

"Thought I'd have brunch at Speedy's or see if Mrs Hudson was up for something to eat."

John's gaze darted around their surroundings for a few seconds as he considered the possibility of brunch. Dipping his hands into his jean pockets, he took a breath and rocked on his heels.

"Hmm. Mind if I join you?" He asked somewhat shyly. Alex smiled and shook her head, and the two set off in the direction of Speedy's.

"So, you not got work today?" Alex asked with her mouthful of bacon sandwich. John eyed the food she was guzzling with a resenting look on his face. It was the last thing he even wanted to _think _of eating. He was content with his cup of tea.

"Err, no. Phoned in and had my appointments rearranged so I haven't got any today. It's only a locum job so I'm not going to be there long. My ex works there and we broke up not long ago, so it's, um, not a place I like to spend my time now."

"Oh, sorry." Alex said between bites of the sandwich, "When did you break up?"

"About six weeks ago." John said, genuinely sad, "We went to New Zealand and had a fairly good time, but broke up shortly after we got back."

"Oh God. I had a break up about eight months ago myself. Think I'm only just getting over her. Love hurts." Alex said solemnly.

"Well, I don't know that I was in love with Sarah. I liked her, I liked her a lot, but… It just didn't work out."

Finishing her sandwich and joining John in a cup of tea, she then remembered why they had coincidently met that day.

"Sherlock was acting like a four year old, was he? What was he doing? Throwing a tantrum because he couldn't get his own way?" Alex meant this to be satirical.

"Yes, actually." John said. Alex almost choked on her tea. "He likes to do experiments with body parts that he gets from the morgue and in the fridge there was this decaying… hand." John held up his own and had a disgusted look on his face. "I threw it out, along with other things that were rotting in the fridge, and he decided to go absolutely ballistic and was taking the piss out of my blog. He can be a right dick sometimes."

Alex pondered on that. Now John mentioned it, there was something rather childlike about the consulting detective. His irreverence was blatant. There was also a sort of innocence about him. The blasé attitude of a little boy who said what he thought and had no qualms about it. She could just imagine Sherlock sulking and stamping his foot when things didn't go his way. Alex couldn't help the images in her head and the little laugh she automatically made in reaction to them.

"Well, if he has a few minutes or hours, he tends to forget about the little arguments we had. Last time he ridiculed my blog I walked out, and when I came back he… quite astonishingly… said that he would be 'lost without his blogger.'" John smiled a warm and emotional smile, clearly thinking of that moment and what it meant.

"You too are very close."

"Yeah, yeah we are. I would like him to be a bit more open with me, but, he's a very private man and I can't make him open up. He has to do that on his own."

They drank their tea and looked around them at the other punters in the café for a couple of minutes. Alex was wondering whether to have a cake before she thought it would be best to talk about the events of the night before.

"I don't know if Sherlock told you, but while you were at work yesterday, Sherlock invited me to 'assist' him with an investigation."

"He didn't!" John cried.

"He did! We went to a really big house in Chiswick where a woman had her head bashed in, and Sherlock was able to find out what happened, and who did it, in less than fifteen minutes!"

"That long? Usually it's less than a minute." John had obviously seen more of Sherlock's amazing skills than Alex had. Much more.

"Well, I didn't see all he had done. I went into the house with him, he checked the body, took some photos, was extremely rude to the forensics guy, even though he was just as nasty…"

"Let me guess." John intervened, pointing his finger at Alex, "Anderson?"

"Erm, yes, that was his name. Sherlock slammed the door in Anderson's face at one point – which was actually quite funny given the circumstances. Anyway, I left while he was still there figuring it out and he met me outside, telling me the case was solved, but didn't seem to want to tell me how. He waited till we got back to the flat, he printed the photos and tried to get _me _to figure it out!"

"He didn't! The git, he tried that with me once." John exclaimed.

"Did you get it right?" Alex asked.

"Nope. Well, he just said that I had done well but missed everything of importance. How about you?"

"Well, I refused at first. There was no point and he would just mock me for being wrong, but when he kind of _thrust_ a photo in my face, I had a go. I did pretty much the same as you."

Alex knew that this was not quite true, as she had got many parts that were important, but didn't want to make John feel inept or useless by saying she did better. It was best to be on equal par.

John grinned and picked up his now empty mug. He asked a waitress for another for them both while they passed the time some more.

"One more thing; when I walked back to the hotel last night, I was hunted down, if you like, by Sherlock's big brother."

"Mycroft! God, he did that to you, too?" John almost shouted out to the whole of the café.

"You mean he's done that to you?" Alex gasped in amazement.

"Yep, he did that the night after I first met Sherlock. He didn't tell me who he was, though, I found out later from Sherlock."

The tall, suit clad image of Mycroft wouldn't leave Alex's mind. She was sure that it was the same for John.

"He did tell me who he was but not for a while. He offered me money for information on Sherlock, and I said no."

John laughed at this.

"Yeah, he offered me money and I also refused."

Who is Mycroft? Alex asked herself. He was Sherlock's older brother and said he was in a 'position of authority'. But what authority?

"What does Mycroft actually do, John?" Alex was rather nervous about their conversation. Mycroft would, after all, have 'tabs' on them and may know about their talk in the café.

"He will tell you that he is in a minor position in the government. Sherlock will tell you that he practically _is _the British government, which is actually more of a factual statement. He has his means of knowing what is happening and how to handle things if they go wrong."

Alex nodded her head acknowledging this. The British government? It would explain the expensive car and the fact that he knew Alex's number and what she had been up to.

"What's the beef between him and Sherlock?" Alex asked eventually.

"I don't know," John said, "but I would say it's nothing more than sibling rivalry that has been going on for years."

**There it is guys, maybe a very uneventful chapter, but had to introduce Mycroft, show which part of the series Alex has meant to come into it at, and have some more interaction between John and Alex. I am going to make this a multi chapter and have it end at Reichenbach, until the third series and then I will carry it on. Am in it for the long haul, hope you are too. Love you guys so much X**


	4. The Babysitter

**Hi, beautiful fans of Sherlock. **

Finally! A week after she moved to London, Alex's flat was rewired and plumbed and she had a date set for the kitchen and bathroom to be tiled and floored. After much deliberation, she had decided to go along with Sherlock's recommendation of laminate flooring but only for the bedroom. A black laminate floor and a black and while renaissance wallpaper she had found in a DIY store that would go with absolutely anything at all. The living room, however, was still as bare as possible. The walls in the living room and the stairs to the living room needed to be re-plastered – there were gaping holes everywhere! The stairs were also very worn, almost rotten. There were splinters coming out of the folds and nails along the edges that were pushed up threatening to cause nasty wounds. The staircase itself would need to be replaced and Alex found herself again at the DIY store mooching about. There was something rather calm and peaceful about the place. The bedroom and bathroom suites on the top floor had deliberately been made to look like real rooms you would find in a house.

Alex was relieved that the bathroom suite didn't need replacing. It just needed a bloody good clean and she had spent £25 on cleaning products. However, it was no use exercising their purposes at the moment because the bathroom tiles were coming off the wall and she would rather create a mess _before _cleaning than after. It was only logical. So, she had to stay in the hotel for a while longer. Alex wasn't complaining, mind. It was a lovely hotel and the breakfasts were heaven. In fact, they were so good that she was sure she had gained about four pounds since arriving there. It was time to join a gym!

While Alex meandered from showroom to showroom, her phone bleeped.

_I need two wallpaper samples: one raised, one not raised. You choose the patterns. I need them for an experiment. _

Bloody Sherlock Holmes! He obviously knew where she was, the cheeky bastard, but did he need to be so demanding? Knowing she could match his intellect with her own wit, Alex knew what to say to him.

_A 'please' wouldn't go amiss, Mr Holmes. I won't get your samples without it and I expect reimbursement for them, too!_

It was ten minutes before she received the answer. She didn't know if he would respond given the time it took. Alex smiled as she read it.

_Please. Reimbursement upon delivery, of course. PS: Need them asap._

God, the man could be so charming when he wanted to be. Alex set off to get them instantly and was charged only a 20p for each sample. After ordering the wonderful king sized bed she saw (a trifle big for the bedroom, but she had always wanted a king sized bed), and collecting the bedspread, matching curtains and lovely lace netting, she departed. It was strange suddenly having more than enough money. She had put £30,000 of her advance in a savings account and was being rather frugal with the rest. Being rent and bill free for six months was a very welcome compromise for refurbishing the flat at her own expense. However, Alex was always hoping to eventually move back to rural Kent, get some dogs, cats, rabbits, horses and grow fruit and veg. Sounded sad and boring when she often said it to herself, but this was her dream. Maybe someone would come along that would mend her heart that had been broken eight months before.

At Baker Street she was greeted by Mrs Hudson and John outside with suitcases, seeming to want to get away from the flat post-haste.

"Where are you both going?" Alex asked, anxious that neither party had made her aware beforehand.

"Mrs Hudson's sister is ill and I'm going with her for a few days to make sure everything is ok. She might need a doctor on standby, so I'm afraid that we're going to be away for a bit."

"I'm so sorry, Alex," Mrs Hudson said, giving her surrogate niece a squeeze, "but I'm going to have to ask you to be in charge while I'm gone. Here are the keys to all the doors in the house." She said, her eyes swollen and tearful.

"Also, Alex, Sherlock will probably not eat while I'm away without prompting or help, so, please can you… look after him for us?" John looked pained to say the last five words. It was definitely a shock.

"Err… ok. But, Sherlock's a full grown man, he can take care of himself, surely?" A little voice inside Alex's brain told her that this was not quite true.

"Well, no. He does need someone there for him. He's like a child."

"Ok, I'll make sure he eats, nothing else." Alex said, not wanting to babysit a six foot whining child. Two seconds later she heard her phone go off.

_Please look after my brother, Alex. Mycroft Holmes_

Alex showed this to John, who appeared to have expected it. He gestured with his eyes up and to his right and Alex joined his gaze. There was a security camera on both of them. This made her heart skip a beat but she wasn't at all surprised. She held up her hand, making a thumbs up signal. Her phone sounded again.

_Thank you._

"Ok, where is he?" Alex asked John, resigning herself to the job of minder.

"He's upstairs. I said goodbye and he didn't seem to hear me. He tends to talk sort of, _to me_, sometimes when I'm not there. He might still be doing it! Feel free to use my room if you like."

Alex gave John a brief hug and another to Mrs Hudson before they left in a black cab. Although at the still rather tender age of 23, Alex was sure she would be able to handle the house. Lucky she had bought new bedding, although she was sure leopard print would not go with anything of John's.

Venturing up the stairs of 221b Baker Street, she did indeed hear muttering and knew that it was Sherlock's voice from the deep baritone. It was truly a lovely voice. Alex wasn't attracted to men at all, and certainly not to Sherlock, but the man's voice was hypnotic in a sensual way. She could listen to him talk all day, but maybe not like the words she would hear.

He didn't appear to notice her at first. He was sat in his chair, violin in hand, but was not playing it. Swishing the bow around like he was trying to open a fan, he continued to talk to thin air as Alex entered.

"Sherlock?" He stopped his soliloquy and turned to her, surprised.

"Where's John? I was talking to him." His porcelain face almost looked sad.

"He did try to tell you. Mrs Hudson's sister is ill. She and John have gone to see her for a few days. It was very short notice and John did try and say goodbye, but you didn't seem to hear him." Alex was trying to put it as nicely as possible.

"Oh." Was all the consulting detective said, looking absent-mindedly to the fireplace.

"And, Mrs H has asked me to look after the house while she's away. That also includes you, my dear." Alex said.

"Sorry?" Sherlock squeezed his eyebrows at her. For a genius he was often rather slow.

"I mean I have been asked, but not just by Mrs Hudson and John, to look after you while they are away." It then clicked. Alex could see it on his face.

"Mycroft. What did he say to you?"

Alex fished out her phone and opened the text messages.

"He said 'Please look after my brother, Alex' and when I looked at the security camera outside and gave him a thumbs up, he texted me 'Thank you.'"

Sherlock Holmes looked deflated. He did not want to be 'mothered' but knew that his brother had the final say. Alex didn't really have a choice.

"Might as well start now." Alex said, rising from the seat opposite Sherlock, "John has let me stay in his room, so I'm going to set it up. Have you eaten today?"

The man shook his head, still looking perturbed.

"Well, I can, err, make something…" Alex said, her optimism of cooking dinner in the flat ebbing away as she turned to look at the state of the kitchen. "… In Mrs Hudson's flat. Or I can get a take away for dinner? Which would you prefer?"

"Neither." Sherlock answered as if he were dying to say it.

"Come on, now, you have to eat something."

"I'm bored!" Whined the consulting child in front of her.

"Well, when I come back down, we can do something." Alex said.

"Like what?" Sherlock seemed almost eager at her answer. She actually had not thought of anything at all.

"We can go out for a bit? Could ask that guy Lestrade if there are any cases for you, or, you can play with the wallpaper samples that you asked me to get you?" She held the two rolls up. Sherlock's face lit up instantly, like he had only just remembered his request for them. He got up, put down his beloved instrument and took them from her without a word of thanks. Alex, however, had not expected gratitude. Nor the 40p.

After making up her bed, she knew she would have to pay a visit to her hotel room to collect some things. She wasn't bothered about paying for a room that she would not be staying in because she could use it as storage space.

When she returned to Baker Street that evening, Sherlock was still going mad with the wallpaper samples. They had been cut rather long, so he had cut them up into smaller pieces, dousing them with blood (his own it looked like!). Alex instantly panicked.

"Sherlock Holmes! You haven't eaten today and you are drawing blood!?"

"Yes." He enunciated slowly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"No, stop that at once! You'll make yourself ill!" Alex went to him straight away, putting some kitchen roll on his hand and, despite his apparent protesting, held her free palm to his forehead. It was cold and his complexion was whiter than normal.

"Sherlock, please! I have been charged with the responsibility of 'looking after you', and if I don't do just that, your best friend, landlady and your brother will not be very happy with either of us!" His grey eyes were wide and his cheekbones (that were impossibly high) were rather prominent, giving him an expression of a rabbit caught in the headlights.

"For the sake of your health, please, sit down on _that_ chair," She gestured to his usual choice of seat, "and I will go and get you something solid, and rather sweet, to eat. You also need to replace the fluids you have lost."

"Anything else, Dr Price? Mummy, or whatever else I should call you?"

"Oh, believe me, Sherlock, if I were your mother, I'd give you a bloody good slap right now!"

She tried moving him, but she was a five foot four young woman and he was a six foot odd strong man. However, her words were enough. Like he had been caught out breaking school rules and been told to stand in the corner, he obediently got up and made his way to his chair.

Slumping down deliberately, his bottom lip sticking out and folding his arms, Alex knew she had a rather big, little brother figure to take care of. Naturally squeamish, she donned two surgical gloves she found conveniently poking out of a box on the counter, and set to work putting the used samples in the bin.

"Oh, God… If you really needed blood, why couldn't you have got some from Bart's?"

Sherlock looked at her surprised. She knew he hadn't actually thought of this, but was sure not to say so.

The kitchen table was clean and sanitary and, placing the clean samples in a pile on the counter, she made her way to Sherlock Holmes – still sulking, and knowing his babysitter was right but didn't want to say so. Alex knew that he was also annoyed with Mycroft. If he had not ordered Alex to take charge of him, there was no way he would do as he was told, but because his big brother said so, he would begrudgingly obey.

"Ok, I'm going to the convenience store to pick up something for dinner. Don't do anything stupid while I'm away, please." He looked at her for once with a seeming respect, but with a slight smirk.

"Yeah, I know. The word 'stupid' is not in your vocabulary!"

Alex arrived home very quickly. She had decided in her mind what to get as soon as she had stepped foot outside 221b Baker Street. A couple of isotonic drinks, with vitamins, and the ingredients she would need for a chicken stir fry. Plenty of vegetables for them both, which were very much needed. She had also picked up some salted peanuts and biscuits to replace the poor man's salt and sugar.

Sherlock was still in his chair when she had arrived back, but was busy with his laptop. He glanced at her when she entered the room, but gave her a full on glare as she opened the can of isotonic drink and put it on the table next to him.

"What the hell?" He said in disbelief.

"It's good for you, Sherlock. Drink it if you don't mind – but _sip _it only, don't gulp."

She cooked dinner in Sherlock's kitchen after all, as she had given it a full on clean earlier.

"Noodles, baby corn, mushrooms, onion, cabbage, carrot, beansprouts, chicken of course, and chow mein sauce." Sherlock declared from the living room, still sipping his drink and seeming to actually like it.

"The Science of Deduction?" Alex called to him. Sherlock smiled at this but continued to look at the can he was drinking from, reading the content.

"I saw the large box of beansprouts, carrots, mushroom and cabbage mix in the bag you brought in, and of course the smell of chicken, chow mien sauce and onions are rather distinctive. Plus, a stir fry isn't complete without egg noodles and baby corn. Not a difficult deduction." Alex was rather happy with this. At least Sherlock knew what it was and had not shown any signs of complaint.

There was suddenly a sound of steps on the stairs – even though Alex had not heard the door downstairs opening. Someone with a key? Who was it?

"Good evening, little brother." Spoke the intruder. Alex turned to him and saw his mocking grin.

"Alex, nice to see you again. Making dinner for Sherlock?" Did he really need to ask that?

"Yes, I certainly am. You should have let me know you were visiting, I would have bought enough to make you some dinner." Mycroft looked gratefully at her.

"No, Alex, Mycroft's rather steady metabolism would not have appreciated it, so it's actually best that he doesn't stop for anything to eat." Sherlock looked rather pleased with himself for this. Alex also found it quite funny and almost laughed. Trying hard to conceal it, she went back to her cooking.

"Dear brother, I am not here to engage in childish banter with you, I am merely here to inform you that I require your presence at the club tomorrow. Nine o clock sharp, in the am."

"Why? Is it of 'national importance', again?" Sherlock asked, not getting up from his seat to meet his brother's eyes.

"Yes, Sherlock. It is. I shall see you tomorrow morning." Mycroft turned from Sherlock to Alex. "Both of you. Without fail." He said, emphasising each word to get her attention. He promptly left before Alex had the chance to ask him why. Sherlock read her mind.

"He wants you to come with me because he has witnessed our little chat a few days ago. You impressed him, no doubt." Alex was then itching to ask another question.

"Did I impress you?" She asked innocently, her heart accelerating, mildly regretting it as soon as she said it. Sherlock got up from his chair, looking pinker in the face, and did not divert his eyes from any other direction than Alex's as he confidently strode towards her.

Soon, he was face to face with her, only a couple of inches apart. Alex instinctively leaned back feeling a tax uncomfortable.

"Dinner's ready." He said, not taking his gaze from her.

"Oh, yes." Alex said, turning round, swirling the contents of the wok, letting a hissing sound escape from it. They sat together at the table to eat opposite one another. Alex was rather surprised at Sherlock's table manners. They were impeccable.

"You were obviously raised a gentleman." Alex said, gaining his attention immediately. His eyebrows raising the inevitable question "how?"

"You are sitting upright, perfectly, like you are tied to the chair. You haven't once put your elbows on the table, not once ate with your mouth open, cut up your food finely, eating one piece at a time and are waiting till you have finished your mouthful before attempting to put any more food on your fork."

Sherlock stopped eating completely for a moment. Seeing her study him was intriguing and somewhat unnerving. It was a change, having someone analyse him, deduce him, _notice _him. John did, but only because he saw nothing more than a good man, a _great _man and a true friend. Was Alex a friend? He wasn't sure. But if Sherlock Holmes wasn't impressed before, he certainly was now.

**Once again, I thank all of you for reading. The next few chapters will be rather exciting so please don't be surprised if it takes a while! Anyhoo, really grateful for any reviews and feedback, please let me know what you think? Love to you all X**


	5. National Importance Part One

**This chapter took a lot longer to write – needed a bit of blue sky thinking, so hope you like it.**

A black Jaguar drove up to 221b Baker Street at exactly 8:34am. Alex and Sherlock were outside ready. Sherlock had put on an all-black suit with his long coat over the top, and Alex had decided to put on her very best jacket and trouser suit, but opted for a light pink blouse – it was a big change from her usual hoodies, jeans and track suits. She wouldn't be seen dead in a dress or skirt, so a suit it was. Flat soled boots were the best footwear. Alex was a boots or trainers girl and nothing in between would do.

Sherlock had ignored Alex all morning, practically. He was still rather off with her after she insisted on him having biscuits after dinner plus several cups of tea with three sugars. Not only was mothering and mollycoddling this exasperating but they were now out of sugar. Alex was sure he knew she was only looking out for him, however, once the brain of the amazing detective was engaged in a task, she knew that the body would be neglected. So, she had to try and get as much fuel into his body as possible before he was given a challenge.

The bruise on his hand had gone a patchy purple and green, but at least he had not drawn anymore blood. He seemed healthier and she had sneaked an isotonic drink and small amount of food with her in her shoulder bag.

The Jaguar was not the same as the previous one Alex had been in, for it had a dark red and brown interior and no partition between the driver and the two passengers. They didn't exchange a word during the drive to The Diogenes Club, the place where Mycroft spent most of his time. It was only when they vacated the car that Sherlock spoke his first words of the day.

"When we go in, do not say a word until we are in Mycroft's office. Not. A. Word." He insisted. Alex nodded and mockingly 'zipped' her mouth closed. Sherlock rolled his eyes and strode in, hands deep in his pockets, adopting that familiar strut. Yep, the consulting five year old had gone and the consulting detective was well and truly back.

The Diogenes Club was rather swanky. Wooden walls, old fashioned fireplace and comfy chairs – rather traditional but still rather nice. Two men in matching black suits escorted Sherlock and Alex to a room at the back of the main lobby of the club, where Mycroft Holmes was. His back was to the door and he was pouring himself a drink from a glass tumbler.

"Thank you for coming, both of you." He said, not turning round and still tending to his drink. As if he were entering his own home, Sherlock walked over to the large desk in the middle of the room, and set down in one of the chairs that was situated opposite the biggest and most expensive looking chair, which undoubtedly was Mycroft's. Alex decided to follow suit and sat beside Sherlock. Mycroft had a scowl on as he turned round, not appreciating his brother's forward attitude, nor Alex's for that matter, but he looked as if he expected it. The two escorts left the room.

"Your urgent assistance and expertise is required, Sherlock. One of our officials has gone missing and, with him, some very important documents. Zachary "Zak" Laurence, 32. Lives alone in Bethnal Green, last seen at his flat by his girlfriend yesterday at 5:35pm, 35 minutes after he left the office. 5:35pm was when the girlfriend left, although, of course, she does not know anything about the documents."

"Naturally." Sherlock declared.

"Why did she leave at that time?" Alex asked. "She was his girlfriend, why didn't she stay over for dinner if he had just come home from work? Seems an odd time."

"They had an argument," Mycroft said, "apparently about his hesitation to commit and, as she lived very close, she didn't get any transport. She arrived home at 5:42pm. CCTV confirms her leaving Zak's flat at 5:35pm and arriving at her own at 5:42pm. Nothing unusual about the route she took."

Mycroft was focusing a lot on the girlfriend. He handed Sherlock a profile of the missing official. To Alex, he handed a picture of the girlfriend. She was a slim, brunette lady and was, as Alex observed keenly, very, very beautiful. She was standing with her arm around the official, but looked very uneasy. Like she didn't want to be there.

"Did the cameras pick up on any unusual activity inside or around the house before or after the girlfriend left?" Sherlock asked.

"No. Nothing at all." Mycroft answered.

Alex continued to admire the picture of the attractive lady, unconsciously running her fingers over the woman's figure on the paper.

"What's her name?" Alex asked.

"Rebecca Scanlan. Here is her profile. Address, everything on there." Mycroft handed the folder to Alex.

"How many documents have gone missing? He was an official. He must have had many in his possession." Sherlock said to Mycroft.

"A considerable number. Many on disks and memory sticks, but most on paper – kept in locked briefcases. Only Zak knows the combinations. He doesn't bring any documents home with him – but on this occasion, he did. CCTV shows that he carried a briefcase into his home that night at 5:10pm and Rebecca followed him in ten minutes later."

"Had Rebecca and Zak had arguments before – about commitment, or, whatever?" Alex asked.

"Yes, actually. Zak's colleagues often said how he complained about her no end. Sometimes it has been reported, yet never substantiated, that he was often abusive to her. Both physically and verbally." Mycroft said, looking at Sherlock.

"You say that she didn't know anything about the documents?" Sherlock asked, closing the file on the official as he spoke.

"Yes." Mycroft answered.

"Hmm…" Sherlock said, turning his head towards Alex. She knew that he was questioning that statement.

"Zak was in his property that night and did not leave it. But he _has_ gone missing, so both he and the information must be found. If they fall into the wrong hands, or indeed if Zak does, the consequences will be… disastrous."

"Of National Importance…" Sherlock exclaimed, "Meaning that confidential details of current political affairs are present within the documents, for the eyes of the government and the secret services, obviously. I have an idea where to start." Sherlock said, springing up from his seat and donning his coat in haste. Alex arose too, following the lead of her superior.

"Mr Laurence's flat is a good place to begin our investigation, Alex." He said, making his way towards the door of the office.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft called, rising to his feet sharply. "Neither the documents nor Mr Laurence are in his flat. You will not find them there."

The consulting detective had his hand on the doorknob and did not let it go, despite his brother's insistence on changing his method. He turned around to address his brother with a grave look on his face.

"Mycroft, you have enlisted my help in retrieving the missing official and the rather damaging information he has. Please trust me and let me do my job." It was the first time since the murder of the woman in the mansion in Chiswick that she heard his voice so sincere, so calm and focused. Mycroft Holmes placed his hands behind his back in acknowledgement of his younger sibling's certainly and gave a curt nod. It seemed to say 'on your head be it if you fail' and both Sherlock and Alex knew this.

"So, why are we going to his flat?" Alex asked as they both stepped into the Jaguar, once Sherlock had given the orders to take them both there.

"Patience." The evasiveness of the man was frustrating.

"God, you're so cryptic!" Alex sighed, looking out of the window. She could still see Sherlock's face in the reflection, which was staring at hers, wearing a surreptitious glare.

Once they were outside of the flat, Sherlock stood for a moment at the bottom of the stairs leading up the main entrance. He peered around the columns either side of the door and over the large white wall that concealed the patios of the basement flats below. Zak Laurence lived in one of the middle floors of the colossal building.

Walking along the front of the building three times left to right, Alex realised what Sherlock was doing. He was checking the location of the cameras and where their fields of vision started and ended. Standing helplessly on the first step, she waited for her "boss(?)" to finish his strange task. The more he walked about the keener and more excited he became. His face lit up and even his grey eyes started to smile. They were almost sparkling.

"Excellent." Exclaimed Sherlock, as he swaggered up the stairs, Alex in tow. Using the key that Mycroft had given him (the government would have spare keys to the homes of their officials), they let themselves into the flat.

It was at best described as ordinary. Typical of a thirty-something man with a lovely younger lady who stayed over often. He had a 42" LCD TV, Playstation 3, a laptop and many karate trophies on a large cabinet. Rebecca obviously stayed over regularly. Her clothes were hanging over a clothes horse, along with Zak's. Sherlock snooped around for a bit, using his small magnifying glass to examine bits and pieces of just about everything. Twisting and turning it quickly and sharply, he moved about the flat. The kitchen, the living room were given a thorough going over. He then ventured into the bedroom at the back of the flat finally, where he stayed for over a minute. Alex became curious and followed him.

Sherlock was peering out of the window, not moving or exercising the uses of his magnifying glass. He was motionless as he kept the netting up to examine the surroundings. He then turned around and stared at the floor, walking carefully around the bed, not taking his eyes from the carpet.

"What have you found?" Alex asked.

"He was barefoot," Sherlock answered, "and walked around this room for a bit, wondering what to do. Not bothering to get his shoes on or take anything with him – including his wallet," Sherlock gestured to the open brown leather wallet on the bedside cabinet, "and scarpered out of the window." Alex then felt the breeze and observed that the window was indeed wide open. Wide enough for a grown man to fit through.

"How do you know?" Sherlock threw her a look that said 'do you really need to ask that?'

"He paced about, judging by the prints on the rug and the marks on the floor. He had dirty feet and paced around his bedroom. The marks are recent which shows he did not do that often. He was at home and had no reason to have footwear indoors, but when he mounted the window ledge, he leapt out of it without any shoes on. He was desperate. Desperate to escape. He knew he would be in a lot of trouble if the documents fell into the wrong hands. He also wanted to appear to go missing in suspicious circumstances so not to incriminate himself."

"Do you think he knew who had taken them?" Alex enquired.

"No. If he knew, he would have paid them a visit. He would have alerted the government and all hell would break loose."

"Do you have any inclination of who took them?"

"I have an idea." Sherlock answered, taking out his phone and making a call.

"Mycroft, I need the tapes of the CCTV footage from yesterday. Just from when he arrived home till when Rebecca left. No, no, that is all I need. Thank you."

Alex had gone to the cabinet to pick up the wallet with a handkerchief. She noticed that there were several cards in them. Bank cards, driving licence, a gym membership and the like. There were eight slots, seven of them full. One was empty.

"Sherlock, one of the slots doesn't have a card. Seems strange to have the second one down empty – usually people keep their cards together."

"Exactly!" Cried the detective.

"What would it be?" Alex asked.

"His credit card." Sherlock said.

"Ay?" Alex exclaimed in disbelief at the quickness of the response, "How would you know that?"

"His bank statements in that drawer have credit card payments shown on them to three different companies. There are two credit cards in this wallet, both below the second slot. You are right. He would keep them together! The top slot is his debit card. On the other side are his driving licence, gym membership, work ID and film rental cards."

"Why would he take a credit card when it could be traced?" Alex asked.

"He isn't planning on using it at any terminals. He picked it at random. Well, he deliberately picked one of the credit cards but only so he could use it to open locked doors. Typical."

"Where would you say he is going?" Sherlock looked rather smug as she said this.

"Come with me." He said.

Outside of the entire building, Sherlock led Alex to the side of it, and down some steps to a patio that would belong to the owner or occupier of the west side basement flat. Taking out his own card, Sherlock slipped it into the small gap between the patio doors and they opened easily. The doors were UPVC and very new. The patio had just been laid and the paintwork on the stone walls still had that freshly coated smell. The basement flat was dark, even in the morning sun, but there was clear signs that whilst vacant, someone had recently been there.

Alex and Sherlock crept over the carpet in silence before Sherlock held up his hand for her to stop and stay still. His eyes were fixed on a door that was slightly open and he cautiously made his way to it. As stealthily as a cat about to pounce on unsuspecting prey, approaching it with reflexes that would give any cat a run for its money, he thrust the door open so that it banged on the wall, sending a ripple through the floor and the walls. To Alex's shock, he had produced a handgun from the folds of his coa, and had it trained on a young man hunched in the corner of the room Sherlock had just revealed. The man looked tired, frightened and had stains on his face that were certainly from hours of tears and nails that had been dragged over his skin in clear moments of distress.

"Zak Laurence." Sherlock said, lowering his gun and putting it back into his coat.

Zak shakily nodded his head and lowered his hands that he had poised in the air as soon as Sherlock had burst into the room.

"I think you'd better come with me."

It hadn't taken Sherlock much persuasion to get Zak Laurence into the Jaguar to take to The Diogenes Club. He had been caught. Found out. He could not hide anymore. He was shaking even more as Sherlock led him into Mycroft's office and looked like he was going to faint when he came face to face with Sherlock's wise older brother.

"Zachary Laurence." Mycroft addressed him with real authority and superiority. The man knew his place.

"Y-y-yes, sir." Mycroft acknowledged the man's answer, but then turned to his younger brother, hand outstretched with a small box in it.

"What you required, Sherlock." The said party took it gratefully and gestured for Alex to come with him. It was a fast paced meeting with Mycroft again. Sherlock did not question Zak Laurence or make any deductions about him. Alex thought that this was odd.

"Why aren't we staying to question him?" Alex asked Sherlock as soon as they got back into the Jaguar.

"Nothing can be gained from him anymore, got everything I need. The CCTV footage," he held up the box, "will tell us all we need to know."

"God, here we go again!" Alex sighed, resigning herself to spend the rest of the journey staring out the window and having a silent travelling companion. This time, Sherlock changed his tactics.

"What?" He asked.

"Oh, you know." She retorted.

"Know what?"

"You're being mysterious again. Not telling me anything until the end of the cab journey. It's getting quite typical of you. Like to see me suffer, don't you?"

Sherlock eyed her up, knowing she had hit the nail on the head. He smirked and realised that he could not fool her anymore.

"Zak genuinely doesn't know where the documents are. He brought them home just this once as he had some catching up to do with the collation of the documents. Taking a bit of a risk, but thinking his own house was safe given the surveillance and was truly terrified for his life when he fled his flat after opening the briefcase to see they were gone."

"So he went to the basement flat so he could hide as close to his home as possible and could go to his flat within the building when he needed to without being seen by CCTV?" Alex asked.

"That's right. He shinnied down the big black guttering that was just outside his window. He would bide his time there while he contemplated how the documents went missing. Zak wouldn't have opened the briefcase at work to check them before bringing them home. Took it for granted that they were inside."

"And they weren't?" Alex asked.

"Oh, yes. They were. They were there when he left the office. They were there when he got a cab home, the specifically chosen form of transport given the precious briefcase in hand, rather than taking his regular transport – the tube. They were there when he entered his flat, and they were in the flat until… they were not." Here he goes again, Alex thought.

"Can you prove your theory?" Alex asked, knowing that at this point, it was just a theory although the world's only consulting detective would not admit it.

"With this, I will." Sherlock said, gesturing to the box.

The tape enclosed in the box made its way into the VCR player as soon as Sherlock and Alex hung up their coats on the door to the flat. Both eager to close the case, they watched the video intensively.

"There! Right there! Do you see?" Sherlock cried out loud, pausing the video in a crucial point and aiming his finger at the screen, shaking it desperately.

"… See what?"

"Oh, Alex, please, you can surely see what is going on here?" Sherlock appeared utterly exasperated by her lack of observation.

"I'll ask you the million dollar question again: 'What do you see?'"

This had the desired effect and Alex's brain engaged immediately upon the receipt of the question in her ear.

"Rebecca leaving the flat, halfway down the stairs, with her… She has the documents! She is holding her coat closed, not buttoned!"

Genuinely impressed, Sherlock turned to her, placing both his hands on her shoulders. This was the first time they had real physical contact. Was it a gesture of friendship?

"YES! It was Rebecca all along!"

"My God! Well, how did she find out about them, or open the briefcase? What would she gain by doing this?" Alex had figured out who, certainly. But the full picture needed to be painted by the expert.

**Hope you have enjoyed this chapter. Can anyone work out the full picture? I might deliberately take my time with the next chapter – hehe! XXX**


	6. National Importance Part Two

**Here it is – the eagerly anticipated second part of National Importance. Well, it didn't take half as long as I thought it would. Happy reading, and I would love to have your views on this! Had so much fun writing it. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Sherlock and Alex arrived at Rebecca Scanlan's flat that afternoon and realised that she was out. At work, no doubt, so Sherlock used his credit card to let them into her home.

It was small and simple, all white and magnolia. Sherlock sniffed about as usual and as if trying to adopt Sherlock's eyes, Alex too went looking about. She normally would not do something like this, but given the high level of importance of the case, she felt completely justified.

Rebecca had not taken the briefcase. She had opened it at her boyfriend's house and removed some, if not all, of its contents. How would she know the combination? How would she know that there were important documents in them? It was all strange and rather than ask Sherlock how she did it and get baffling answers, she decided to try and figure it out on her own. But after several minutes of finding nothing to help her – just evidence of the physical abuse that the woman had suffered – her brain couldn't take any more mental exercise and she decided to just let her writer's mind be free to do what it did best.

Rebecca had used lots of cotton wool pads. There was a giant pack, half empty, and almost empty bottle of TCP in the bathroom. Discarded ice packs in the bin in the kitchen and some in the freezer. Zak _had_ been abusive. There were also diet pills in the bathroom cupboard. Rebecca seemed rather slim in the photos, but Alex couldn't tell if this was as a result of the diet pills, or that she was trying to get even thinner. Did she have an eating disorder? Alex opened the fridge and found it contained plenty of skimmed milk, eggs, pieces of cooked chicken and fat free yogurt and the freezer was full of vegetables and healthy ready meals.

Going between the bathroom and the kitchen, she pictured the scene. Zak was a karate expert, black belt third dan as far as she could tell from the trophies. He was capable of not just abuse, but he could inflict significant damage. Why was Rebecca with him?

Alex had heard of victims of domestic abuse that stay with their partners through it all, despite being badly beaten and emotionally exploited.

Sherlock walked into the bathroom as she contemplated the items she had discovered. His eyes flickered around the place, downloading every piece of information available. He then looked at Alex and changed his expression. Relaxed. He had finished his work and there were no more details to absorb and reason with.

"All we need to do is wait for her return." He said.

Sherlock spent the next three and a half hours sitting on one of the living room chairs, with his elbows on his knees, his hands together as if in prayer and the middle and third fingers acting as a prop for his chin. His eyes remained open and wide during the frustrating duration of that afternoon. Alex was surprised that Sherlock hadn't got bored after an hour.

"What are you doing, Sherlock?"

"Thinking." He answered nonchalantly, almost as if it were an automated response.

Better not disturb him, then, Alex thought. Instead, she amused herself playing Sudoku and solitaire on her BlackBerry, before deciding to Google random things. Saturn's rings, polar bears, different types of pasta and after she had exhausted her interests, decided to find John Watson's blog. She had skimmed over it before, but had never read them in full, or the comments for that matter. Sherlock was rather critical of the blog, but John, to his credit, had not backed down to Sherlock's insistence that he change the format to make it more about him and his analytical reasoning. John's responses to Sherlock's comments did not retaliate or attempt to justify the way he written his blog. John was clever. It was funny to see two close friends having friendly banter.

At 5:05pm, the sound of a key in the lock resonated through the dead silence of the flat, and Sherlock snapped out of his trance, sprang up from the chair gracefully and made his way to the entrance to the hallway. He knew that this would shock the woman about to walk through the door.

As he had done with Zak Laurence, Sherlock quickly drew out the handgun from his jacket, and aimed it at Rebecca Scanlan, who screamed and fell back as soon as she had seen his tall figure in her home. She rooted her back to the door. her right hand looked as though she were trying to edge it to the handle.

"Move away from the door, Rebecca, if you wouldn't mind." He said calmly.

The young woman obeyed and moved to the middle of the hallway. Sherlock, keeping the gun on her, gestured for her to move to the living room. As she did, her eyes moved from the detective to the girl who was stood in her living room. Alex saw the same woman in the photograph alight on her, but truth be told, she was much more beautiful in the flesh. Large hazel eyes and a soft and delicate face that even Hollywood actresses would trade with in a heartbeat. Their eyes locked and Alex felt the reason for the presence in the flat move away. No, she thought, this is a woman who has done something wrong and will be in trouble for it, and she's straight. Is she?

Sherlock didn't seem to notice as he motioned for her to sit down. Rebecca was shaking and sweat was breaking out over her brow. Mouth quivering, she tried to speak but found it taxing on her composure that was clearly waning.

"You have been rather busy, haven't you, Rebecca?" Sherlock said, carefully concealing the gun.

"To get straight to the point, please can you retrieve the documents for me? The ones you stole from Zachary Laurence yesterday evening."

Rebecca nodded and rushed out of the living room to what appeared to be her bedroom. The sounds of paper and the opening and closing of wooden furniture could be heard from the living room. Was the gun really necessary? Alex thought. A bit dramatic. But the more she thought about it, she knew that to make it clear to Rebecca that the imperativeness of the situation was crucial.

Minutes later, she emerged, several pieces of paper in hand. Some envelopes and some on red card paper, Alex saw. A few on faxed paper, but all containing information that could be potentially damaging. The young woman clearly did not know the significance of what she had done.

Rebecca handed them to Sherlock, who arranged them and carefully placed them in a large white A4 envelope he had tucked into the belt of his trousers behind the folds of his jacket. Alex could see that being the clever detective he was, he was sure not to read them.

"Thank you. Now, please take a seat, Rebecca." The woman obeyed. Without taking her eyes off her, Alex sat in the armchair opposite, whilst Sherlock stayed standing.

"…W-who are you both?" Rebecca stuttered, flitting her eyes between Sherlock and Alex. Then, she turned directly to Sherlock.

"How d-do you know my name?"

"Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. This is my colleague, Alex Price. I was commissioned to locate and arrange the safe delivery of very important top secret information which your boyfriend, Zak Laurence, had in his possession until approximately 5:35 last night." He was obviously trying to get an answer from her. Alex tried her hand at questioning.

"We saw you on CCTV coming out of his home, with your coat wrapped round you, clearly concealing something inside. Can you tell us why and how you did it, please?"

Rebecca's gaze altered as she distinguished the difference between Sherlock's serious and blunt tone, to Alex's sympathetic manner. She could also see on the blonde woman's face a curiosity, a need to know more not just because of the predicament that the British government was now in, but because she was genuinely interested.

They locked eyes and Rebecca instantly relaxed. Taking a deep breath she felt her lips move into an effortless smile. Alex's words and demeanour had calmed her. Knowing she had no way out of her mistake, Rebecca recounted the events of the night before, and what led to them.

"Zak and I met three years ago. He was so kind and sweet I knew I wanted to be with him. He would make me feel so good but he had ways of making me feel like dirt. He would say I was too fat and that I was trying to control him. Zak wanted his freedom and didn't like it even if I made him a meal. 'You just don't want me having friends' he would say. I would try and please him. I lost a stone, wore clothes that covered me up more, because he'd hate it when I'd wear anything that would show my legs, my belly – even my shoulders. Eventually, I had to wear clothes that would cover me up for different reasons…"

Rebecca didn't seem to care that she barely knew the strangers in her home. They were there to listen and she slowly pulled on the neck of her jumper to reveal purple bruises on her right shoulder. The marks of strong fingers could be seen. Lifting the hem, there was a clear sign of a fist making contact with her diaphragm. A tear escaped her eye as she sat down to continue.

"It's easy to say I should have finished it. But when he would apologise immediately after, he would make it up to me so much – presents and, well, you know. He made me feel good and I loved him. So I stayed. I suppose I thought that it was my fault and I needed to change. But after a while, the humiliating insults became public and he would question everything I'd say, thinking that I was talking down to him or had a hidden agenda. I was walking on eggshells all the time. I wanted to leave him, but he would creep back into my life and into my bed. But the last straw was when he punched me in the stomach. I couldn't eat for a while afterwards. Zak never hit me in the face, just… everywhere else. I knew that he had confidential information in the briefcase he brought home. Why else would there be such an elaborate combination lock? I knew enough personal information to open it, so when I went to see him yesterday, waited until he was in the bathroom and tried the ideas in my head to the combinations. His birthday was one of them – that was easy. The date his father died, which was last year was the second. I remember it because I had an important client that day – I am a beautician at a place round the corner and we often have famous people use our services. He called me at work to ask, no, _demand_, that I leave to come back. I wasn't his domestic partner or wife, but I was his girlfriend and I duly came home, abandoning my client and the commission I would have got with it. The third was another date. When he got his third dan. I tried each of these numbers with all of the locks. To my surprise, it worked. I got out most of the contents, not all of them as there were so many and tucked them under the belt of my jeans and used my large winter coat to cover them up. I knew that there was CCTV around."

Rebecca was no longer looking at Sherlock or Alex, just to the floor. Her tears had dried up as she had told them the story about how she had sought revenge against the man who had beaten up and abused her.

"You stole the documents to get him into trouble. Serious trouble." Sherlock said.

"Yes," Rebecca said, looking at him directly, "I knew his job meant a lot to him. He earned good money and because he had taken so much from me, I thought I would take the thing that meant the most to him."

Alex was moved to the point that she herself felt hatred and anger towards Zak Laurence. However dishonest her actions were, the man deserved to be brought down a peg or several.

"Did you ever realise that with the information in your domain, you were holding details of the utmost confidentiality and the safety of British citizens could be compromised?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, yes, I did. I intended on destroying them. My friend is going to be having a bonfire soon to get rid of lots of her stuff, so I was going to burn them."

Rebecca then looked as if she eventually understood the position she was in, rubbing her hands together and resorting to shaking and becoming uncomfortable again.

"Did you read the documents?" Sherlock asked.

"Y-yes, I… read some of them."

"Did you disclose any of their contents to anybody?" Sherlock asked, desperate for her to say no. Rebecca looked more scared than ever.

"No – no, I didn't _disclose_, I just… researched the subject matter."

"You Googled some of the information on the documents?" Alex asked.

"Yes. I did."

"Is your computer spyware and virus protected?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh, yes. I'm quite savvy with things like that, but…"

Sherlock and Alex looked at each other, not liking what anticipated they were about to hear. Rebecca took in a deep breath before she spoke again.

"I was looking some of the content up. I then received an email. It was from an anonymous person. I don't usually reply to anonymous people, so I didn't this time, but it did seem as if my laptop had been hacked. Or, if someone was watching the activity. It scared me, so I shut down the browser and I haven't even turned on my laptop since. This was at about half past eleven last night."

Taking a step closer to Rebecca, Sherlock looked, for the first time that evening and ever since Alex had known him, unnerved.

"Fetch me your laptop, please."

Rebecca brought the laptop to him still closed, as if she wouldn't dare even open it with the power off. Alex went to her, understanding her anxiety, and placed her hand on Rebecca's shoulder.

"It's ok, Sherlock and I will look at this. Go into the kitchen and get something sweet. It'll do you the world of good after what you've been through and you're in shock."

"Thank you." Rebecca said, standing so close to Alex that one brush of a feather would throw her into Alex's arms. Alex had to tear her eyes away from those perfect pink lips, and the thought of what they could do, to join Sherlock on the sofa.

He opened the browser. Rebecca had left herself signed in on the email and, as they both noticed, there were five emails. All from 'a friend". No email address. Whoever it was had gone to great lengths to hack Rebecca's laptop and conceal their identity.

The five emails had subject lines of the items Rebecca had researched, all thanking her and praising her for stealing the data and letting the hacker know about them.

"This isn't good." Alex said. Sherlock shook his head, sweat forming over his lip.

"It's serious. Mycroft will want to see this. I'm afraid, Rebecca, that I will be confiscating this. Sensitive information is present and not just on the emails. It is on the laptop itself. We need to do everything we can to find out who has the information."

The woman looked like she was about to protest, but stepped back in realisation that this was the best, and frankly, the only course of action. She was certainly scared of what would happen to her and Alex was also aware that she would be taken somewhere for interrogation.

Sherlock's phone bleeped. Checking the contents, he looked at Alex and nodded.

"Mycroft's car is waiting outside. You will need to come with us, Rebecca. Pack as many things as you can into one bag. You will not be coming back here for some time." Sherlock said.

Rebecca had begun crying again, but knew she had no choice. Walking slowly to her bedroom, Alex decided it was best to follow her. She couldn't help but sense the woman's vulnerability and her own need to comfort someone in a less fortunate position than her own.

Alex saw that Rebecca was sitting on the bottom of her bed, head in her hands and crying furiously. She had pulled out a suitcase, a decent sized one, from under the bed, but had not moved it anywhere in the room where it would be easy to fill.

"Hey, come here." Alex said, taking up the small amount of room beside the weeping woman and placing her hand around her shaking shoulders. Rebecca lifted her head and stared into Alex's eyes. Rebecca's were glistening and large, like a startled doe.

"It's going to be hard and I'm not going to lie to you and say you aren't in trouble, but you know what you have to do." Rebecca nodded and sat upright, Alex's hand sliding to the middle of her back. She had to fight hard to ignore the feeling of blood moving around her body faster than normal and pooling in a particular area.

"Thank you for being so understanding."

"It's ok. You know you can still press charges against Zak for assault? He will be in the shit anyway for not being fully responsible for the documents, but he has to pay for what he did to you."

"I know. I thought he loved me but I was just a convenience to him." Rebecca sobbed.

"He took advantage of your kind nature. What you did was wrong, very wrong, but I understand your reasons. He is a coward and doesn't deserve to have a beautiful woman like you." Alex felt a kind of regret sizzling in her mind. Had she revealed too much? To her surprise, and delight, Rebecca rewarded her with the most amazing smile, closed her eyes and touched her lips to Alex's. As if a mallet swung at pull pelt had beaten her over the head, the most delirious swoon took over her. It was a light, somewhat chaste kiss, but was as wonderful as anything else that could have happened between them.

Alex helped Rebecca pack her essentials, trying hard to fight back tears as she walked past Sherlock in the living room several times to retrieve items from the bathroom and kitchen. She knew the consulting detective would deduce the spark and emotions between the two women, but not think anything of it, other than the technical aspects of attraction.

Venturing outside, Mycroft was waiting beside the same black Jaguar that he had used to 'kidnap' Alex and gestured for Rebecca to get in. The chauffeur took the large grey suitcase, as Rebecca peered inside the vehicle. Hesitating, she turned around to catch one last look at the woman who had showed her what being appreciated felt like. It had only been two hours since they met, but both women understood that they had found, and were now losing, a missing part of themselves they had discovered in each other.

Later that evening, Alex had let herself cry it all out. She had gone to John's room to do it and made sure she was as silent as possible. However, three minutes in, she found she really didn't care. There was no point keeping anything from Sherlock, brilliant man that he was.

After half an hour, she dried her eyes, changed into her jeans and hoody and strolled down the stairs to observe Sherlock playing his violin. A merry song, which Alex didn't recognise, but it instantly put her in a better mood. After a couple of seconds, he stopped.

"Feeling better?" He said, without taking his gaze from the window.

"Yes, thank you. Don't stop, that was rather lovely."

Sherlock clearly appreciated her comment and took to playing the lilting tune again. Alex sat on the desk chair opposite him, staring out of the other window, getting lost in the music. After he had finished, she applauded gratefully, to which he acknowledged by crossing the bow over his chest, like a military salute.

"Do you do requests?" Alex asked.

"What would you like?" He answered.

"Err… Edelweiss?" Alex said, giving a smile that said 'pretty please.'

"Ugh, dull, boring, typical."

"Please! I love it. That film is my favourite." Alex said in a higher pitch to show that she really wanted to hear the wonderful melody. Sherlock allowed her this request and played it beautifully. She resisted the urge to sing along, but was grateful for his acquiescence.

Alex decided not to cook and bought fish and chips instead. Sherlock picked at the cod critically with the wooden fork and pretty much soaked the chips in vinegar before eating them. He had placed the paper the food came with in the bin and insisted on eating at the table on a plate. There was no way he would get grease on his designer suit.

"Any idea where those anonymous emails were coming from?" Alex asked midway through the meal.

"Yes." Another one of Sherlock's annoying automated responses.

"Care to elaborate?" She asked.

"Moriarty." Sherlock said, not looking at her.

Alex had to think for a bit. Then, she remembered the content of John's blog entries titled A Study In Pink and The Great Game.

"I know who you mean. What would he want with government information?"

"To cause trouble. He likes to cause trouble. Not for gain, just for the sake of it. He last said to me that he never likes to 'get his hands dirty', so he wouldn't use the information himself. He would pass it on to someone else, someone who _would_ use the data for gain or favour. He would just be the consultant."

"Who would that be?" Alex asked. Sherlock finally looked her in the eye sincerely.

"Absolutely no idea." Sherlock said slowly as he went back to poking the battered cod. It was true. He had no idea. Or did he? At the pool that night, someone had called Moriarty to tell him that they had something. What did they have? Moriarty was willing to let Sherlock and John carry on with the acquisition of this knowledge. A client for the consulting criminal. He had told whoever it was that if they had what they said they had, he would make them rich. Blackmail? Would Moriarty obtain information or items for this person to add to what they already had for blackmail? Sherlock pondered this thought for some time.

**The end! Hope you liked it. Thanks so much for reading. Kisses MWAH! X**


	7. The Doctor And The Writer

**Rightyho, after a brain taxing story with NI, I thought something light hearted and rather a sweet story would be appropriate. Bashing them out like crazy! As always, love to all! ROLL ON SERIES 3!**

Three weeks after moving to Baker Street, the flat was ready and equipped with the necessary facilities needed for a young single woman. The rooms were still being filled with accessories, though, and Alex was traipsing around the high street for alternative style ornaments. She particularly liked swirly, curving and unconventional items. A natural artist herself, she decided to pay a visit to the art shop and stock up on graphite pencils and sketching paper. There were many 'make it yourself' sculpture kits and modelling clay blocks she could use.

Although she was enjoying the shopping trip the weather was scorching; over 30 degrees Celsius and far too hot for comfort. After exiting the art shop, she stopped dead, her surroundings blurring. She had to hold onto the door frame to keep from falling. Her head was banging and although she had noticed a tickle in her throat that morning, it now felt like it had been brushed with sandpaper.

Heaving steadily, the overwhelming heat from her body coming from inside her subsided and she was then able to focus on staying upright. Stumbling to the road, she flagged the first taxi she could. Three weeks was all that was needed to be able to achieve this now and she no longer felt embarrassed doing it.

The taxi driver noticed her almost fall towards the door and instantly got out to help her. Not wanting to visit a doctor, she opted to go home and see if John could check her throat. If she wasn't mistaken, she had one hell of a throat infection complete with a severe headache and temperature. The hot weather was certainly not helping and she needed to cool off urgently.

Entering the lobby of 221b, and not bothering to go into her flat, she almost threw the bags onto the chair opposite the fireplace and slowly climbed the seventeen steps to Sherlock and John's flat. It was quiet. Alex wondered if they were out. John had recently left his job as a doctor at the surgery and was doing temporary work at hospitals on a casual basis, which was handy for when he needed to accompany Sherlock on his cases. Alex hoped he wasn't working. Only in the space of an hour, the soreness in her throat felt as if there were lumps forming, like they had sharp edges and each swallow felt like a knife sliding down slowly, with the bulkiness and bluntness of the handle pushing over where the blade had been. A throat infection was becoming more and more unlikely. It was something more serious.

"John?" Alex said softly as she entered the flat, knocking politely. Her vocals were working better than she thought despite the pain.

No answer. But she did notice that Sherlock was sitting at the kitchen table, eyes focused intensively on whatever it was he was viewing through his microscope. There were many petri dishes around with what looked like mould and bacteria samples in them. Sherlock had four large books piled up to his right with one open on his lap.

"Sherlock, is John about at all?" She said, squeezing and massaging her throat lightly.

"No. He's at Guys for the day." He answered, not looking at her.

"Oh…" Alex said, sniffing a little, realising that tears were forming without any effort from her and there was no way to stop them. Sherlock's eyes tore themselves away from the sample as he went to get another. In doing so, he shot a very quick and passing look to Alex. But as he did so, he noticed that there was something wrong with her. Very wrong.

"You alright?" He asked, showing genuine concern for once.

"Err… no, I'm, I'm not feeling too good and that's why I wanted to speak with John."

As soon as she had spoken, Sherlock had gotten up from his stool and was searching for something hidden under the mess on the table. Alex was about to leave the flat, although she didn't really want to, but when Sherlock approached her she stopped and stared at the little instrument he held in his hand. It was long and thin, about half the circumference of her own little finger.

"Open up." He said, placing his left fingers under Alex's chin once he had approached her.

"W-what?" She asked in disbelief. Sherlock wasn't a doctor.

"Open up, please." He said, still softly, but it was a demand not a request.

Hesitantly, Alex obliged. She opened her mouth as far as possible not to hurt her throat whilst Sherlock gripped the item he had found, a small torch, and shone it into her mouth.

"Hmm… Tonsillitis." He said, withdrawing his hand from Alex's face and placing his knuckles against her forehead briefly.

"A fever, too. Text John, get him to bring you some Amoxicillin on his way home. You also need to reduce that fever." He said, before resuming his place by his science equipment.

Am-what? Oh, of course, the same antibiotics that I took when I had a sinus infection two years ago, Alex thought. She pulled her phone out of her jeans pocket and did as Sherlock asked. Within three minutes, after going downstairs, her phone began to ring.

"Hello, John."

"Hi, Alex. What's up, why d'you need Amoxicillin?"

"Oh, sorry, I have a sore throat and headache, which has got worse during the day. I came home to see if you could find out what it was, but you weren't here, so Sherlock decided to look in my throat and he said I have tonsillitis. I don't know; I've never had it. Well, not that I remember."

"Oh, ok, it's just your text didn't say that." He said.

"Sorry, I'm kinda out of it…" Alex said, not fighting back the tears. Walking down the steps to her flat, which were wonderfully cool, she kicked off her shoes, sending them crashing to the bottom of the staircase and decided that light pyjamas were best, but after a cool bath

"Take some paracetamol and, yes, I will bring some Amoxicillin. But I want to check your throat first before I give them to you. Eat something if you can and then take some anti-inflammatories. I won't be home until after ten tonight if you can wait that long?" John said.

"Yeah, no problem." Alex knew that she actually needed him sooner than this but she didn't want to inconvenience the good doctor.

"Good. I'll see you later, I have to go now - I just managed to sneak out to make this call. Got some patients waiting, bye."

The effects of a tepid bath were very, very welcome upon Alex's hot skin, soothing and cooling. It was so wonderful to feel much better from the neck down but the actual problem was from the neck up. The painkillers and anti-inflammatories had a small effect on her throat and head. The paracetamol had certainly brought her body temperature down to somewhat normal, along with the lovely water.

After the pyjamas went on Alex knew that eating what tempted her most – a nice double chocolate muffin from Speedy's and one of their divine Marmite and cheese paninis – would not go down well, literally.

Alex had set up a TV and DVD unit in the bedroom as well as the living room for times when she would want to stay in bed and watch something, so she retired to the bedroom, after ensuring that the door to her flat was unlocked. She didn't want to move from the bed if she could help it. Extracting her BlackBerry from her shoulder bag, and flinging the bag across the room in frustration at how helpless she felt, she texted John.

_Hi John. When you come home please can you let yourself into my flat? The door's open and I feel a bit too unwell to get out of bed. Hope that's ok, sorry! X x x _

Bored out of her mind after watching the first four episodes of An Idiot Abroad that she had seen umpteen times, she took out her laptop and opened her writing file. Alex's agent had told her that she had nine months to complete the first draft of her second novel, but there was no time like the present.

She wrote as much as she could until drowsiness took over. With the menu of the DVD still playing after the episodes had finished, and the laptop resting on her pillow on her tummy, she drifted off.

"Alex. Alex, wake up. It's John here." The voice was light, soft and soothing, yet pulled her successfully out of the land of nod.

"Oh. Sorry, John, I was asleep." Alex slurred, shoving her laptop onto the other side of the bed, noticing it was completely off having lost its charge. She knew that she wouldn't have lost her work if she were to charge it up, though.

"Yeah, I could see that. How you feeling?" John asked, perching on the side of the bed.

"Like shit." Alex groaned. John laughed and took hold of a similar light that Sherlock had used earlier. She didn't need telling what to do, so she repeated the task she was asked to perform earlier. John only needed two seconds to diagnose her – officially.

"Yep, tonsillitis."

"Sherlock said it was." Alex said.

"Yes, and as much of a Master of Deduction he is, he is not a doctor. I needed to be sure that it was actually tonsillitis." He took out a small tinted bottle from his holdall, opened it, and tipped one capsule onto Alex's hand.

"One capsule three times a day, Miss Price, and remember to finish the entire course, even if the symptoms go away quickly." John said in what Alex could only describe as his 'doctor's voice'.

"Yes, Doctor Watson. But the last time I took these things they gave me the trots!" Alex cried out, as if John had been trying to feed her something to make her more ill. He just laughed at how comedic her speech sounded, knowing that antibiotics have this effect.

"Yeah, it'll do that to you. Drink plenty of water, eat healthy, do NOT exercise, save your energy and get lots of sleep."

"I'm hungry." Alex said, trying to lift herself off the bed, but found as soon as she did, it was evident that the painkillers had worn off.

"Ow! My bloody head!" She said, clutching it furiously.

"It's ok, I can get you something if you like." John was so good, Alex couldn't help but feel a kind of love for him.

"It's late, John, you don't have to stay here, I'm not your problem."

"Yes, but you _are _my patient at the moment, so if it is ok, I can stay for a bit longer to ensure that this fever of yours doesn't flare up again." He said whilst taking the back of his hand to Alex's head to feel her temperature.

"It's a little above normal, but not serious. When did you last take paracetamol?"

"Err…" Alex said, turning her head to view the time on her alarm clock. 10:37pm.

"About eight and a half hours ago." She sighed, not liking the impact talking was having on her throat. She massaged it gently, screwing her face a little in pain.

"That's ok, you can take some more. What have you got in your kitchen that you can eat? Soup, eggs, porridge?" John stood up, smiling affectionately and completely committed to looking after his new friend. That's what they were now; friends. Now that all four of them shared a house, it was more like a family unit. Mrs Hudson was practically her auntie, and John was like the protective and caring older brother she never had. Sherlock? Well, he was more like the 'genius' brother who had a personality like a dry wine. An acquired taste.

"I have porridge, that sounds quite nice actually. Feel free to get what you want, anything at all. I've got some honey too, can I have that with the porridge, please?" John reached forward and pressed a light kiss to her forehead.

"I'll have it ready in no time."

"John?" Alex said as the doctor departed for the kitchen, "Thanks. Thanks for everything, you're a great friend."

A large bowl of porridge and a sweet cup of tea later, John and Alex were both lying down on her bed watching the last four episodes of An Idiot Abroad, however, Alex was more interested in writing. She had slept for over five hours beforehand and was not yet sleepy. John appeared fatigued but was still wide awake and rather into the programme on the telly.

"Oh, did I tell you about the case that Sherlock and I investigated a couple of weeks ago while you and Mrs Hudson visited her sister?" Alex asked at a random moment.

"Yeah, Sherlock told me. Boasted about it, actually. Wanna share your experience?" He turned his head to her, eager to hear it.

"Well, Mycroft…" Alex began.

"No, no, no. Share it on my blog." John gestured for Alex to give her laptop to him.

"On _your _blog? It's yours, though."

"I know, but I'll write an entry then you take over and write your version." John said.

Interesting, tempting and quite the distraction from the searing burning in her throat and the pounding in her head. She could see a wall in the distance edging towards her– Writer's Block – and changing to something else was a good way to break through it. Handing her laptop to the man sitting beside her, he logged into his blog and opened a new entry.

"What do you want to call it?" John asked.

"National Importance?" Alex said, shrugging her shoulders. John looked puzzled.

"You just write the title and the introduction and I'll take care of the rest." She added.

After John had written just a couple of lines, he handed the laptop back to Alex, with curiosity written all over him.

_**National Importance**_

_While away with Mrs H for a few days, taking care of her sister, our housemate, Alex Price, took over as 'housekeeper' and looked after the house, including Sherlock for the time that Mrs H and I were away. During this time, they investigated a case together. The following is Alex's own words:_

Alex was exactly what Mycroft had deduced. A very fast touch-typer, capable of writing at 60 words a minute, despite how awful she was feeling. It wasn't long before she had done over 3,000 words and, as John realised afterwards, Alex's didn't go over her work once but had got all of the spelling, punctuation and grammar spot on. It was quite the story. Descriptive of an adventure that could be mistaken for being dreamed up by a professional storyteller. But John knew that a skilled writer like Alex would easily be able to turn reality into what would appear to be a work of fiction and make it convincing.

"It's quite something, Alex, I'll give you that." John said.

"Thanks. It's true, every word." She told him, with a nod affirming her sincerity in that statement. It was precisely true. Every time she hit the keys with her fingers Alex was telling the absolute truth. However, she was sure that although she would be honest, there was a striking omission. Alex was sure to leave out the fact that Rebecca Scanlan had caught her eye and that their brief yet powerful meeting would remain with her forever.

It wasn't long before John's blog got a notification.

_**Sherlock Holmes**__ 22 June 00:38_

_Really, Alex? You have taken to writing out our 'adventure' on John's blog? Why couldn't this case remain unspoken and unheard of? You've made it seem as if it's a work of fiction._

Alex decided to respond, although on John's username. With his permission, of course.

_**John Watson**__ 22 June 00:41_

_It's Alex here. FYI Sherlock, I _am _a fiction writer, but this, I can assure any readers of this site, is word for word the gospel truth._

_**Sherlock Holmes**__ 22 June 00:45_

_I know that, and I verify that statement, however, making it read like a treatment for a film detracts from the actual events that occurred and the significance of the analytical reasoning involved. How did I know where the man was? How did I know it was the girlfriend? _

Sarcasm was the easiest way to win the argument.

_**John Watson**__ 22 June 00:50_

_I don't know, Sherlock, how did you know where the man was and that it was the girlfriend?_

John and Alex laughed at this, but this was short lived by Alex remembering that her throat was already in pieces and laughing exacerbated the pain. Sherlock did not respond to that comment. He wouldn't dignify it.

Someone calling themselves 'theimprobableone' and another just signing their comments as 'anonymous' made some further comments. Harry Watson, John's sister (who was also gay), made some facetious remarks that John felt compelled to delete after a while and reprimanded his little sister with a post simply telling her to mind her language.

It was nearly 2am before Alex felt tired again and John was flagging terribly. They had exhausted every last bit of crap telly on all the channels and felt it was time to sleep. John graciously took the sofa in the living room and they left the door to the bedroom open so that he could hear Alex if she became delirious and had crazy dreams.

Sherlock texted John just before he retired to the living room, asking where he was. John responded once, then turned his phone completely off. He was in the same building, after all, and if Sherlock needed him he would be able to find his flatmate easily. John Watson was exceptionally tired and had his fill of patients today, although he was happy to look after Alex, who was extremely grateful. Before she fell asleep, she felt it necessary to send a text to Sherlock.

_Thanks for helping me earlier. John has confirmed it is tonsillitis and he got me Amoxicillin to fend it off. If you need John, he is sleeping on my sofa. Goodnigh _

Alex thought for a second before she realised that Sherlock may text her all night so, for the sake of her health and sanity, she too turned off her phone. Slipping into a peaceful sleep, hearing the purring snores coming from the sleeping doctor in the living room, she was happy she was in the kind hands of Doctor John Watson.

**So, there we have it. Hope it isn't too silly! Thought it would be nice for Alex and John to spend some time together and I love John's kind and caring side so much I couldn't resist bringing it to the fic. Thanks readers, you are my sunshine! **


	8. Loving And Loathing

**Ok, so I thought here would be the best time to introduce the only character I haven't mentioned. Hope you like, my darlings.**

Alex locked the door of her flat and made her way into the lobby, arranging her keys in her bag and making sure she had her phone and wallet with her in case. Today, she was taking her mind off the arduous task of completing chapter after chapter of her new novel and was going to Hyde Park for some R&R. It was odd that such an urban place in London would have somewhere so ruralised. She had once spent the afternoon under the drapes of a willow tree with her ex-girlfriend during a very rare visit to London. But she wasn't sure if she would be repeating the same scenario today on her own.

Just as she had closed the door to 221b, she received a text from John.

_Hi Alex. What are you up to?_

_I'm going to Hyde Park for the day. Why, what's up?_

_I'm at Bart's with Sherlock but I'm also on call here and I've been called into A&E. Are you able to come to Bart's to help Sherlock in case I have to stay in A&E for a while? I don't like leaving him on his own. Sorry about this. If you can't don't worry._

Alex knew exactly what John meant. Sherlock in a hospital mortuary was not a combination she thought would was best. Sighing and resigning herself to playing minder (again), she texted John that she would be there soon. There was always tomorrow to go to Hyde Park and maybe, she thought, another case would give her a bit of inspiration or be the perfect weapon to bring down the Writer's Block wall.

_Good, thank you so much, I'll make it up to you I promise. _

_No problem, I'll make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. _

_Thanks again. When you get to Bart's, ask for Dr Molly Hooper. She will meet you and take you to the mortuary._

Ok, Molly Hooper. Gotta remember the name, Alex thought. Why did she let people do this, tell her what to do? But she had found herself becoming fond of the boys over the last six weeks and John was wonderful when she had tonsillitis, which had completely cleared up. Thank God. Sherlock could be rather charming when he wanted to be, or a selfish little brat when the world didn't revolve around him. Maybe that's why he didn't realise that the Earth goes round the sun! Alex thought humorously.

Bart's was massive. A large Victorian building with many sites. She was sure that she had got the right one, but there was still a bit of her that dreaded that she had entered the wrong building. Why couldn't John been more specific?

"Dr Molly Hooper, please? Is she here?" Alex asked shyly to the aloof looking receptionist, who just eyed her with a 'for God's sake' look and punched a number into her telephone as if it was the last thing in the world she wanted to do. This only made Alex feel even more out of place.

"Name?" The receptionist barked.

Alex told the woman her name and the latter muttered into her handset some more before hanging up and asking that Alex wait for Dr Hooper to arrive, still standing at the desk like a lemon and feeling silly. Sherlock's case better be worth her cancelling her plans and encountering a rude receptionist.

It was a full four minutes before she heard a very girly voice ask her name as if it were a question. Alex turned around to see a young woman of about thirty with long brown hair in a ponytail and covered in a white doctor's coat (that was far too big) approach her. She was very pretty and had such a warming smile it was hard not to instantly like her. The kindness struck out from her like the whiteness of her coat, and the annoyance that Alex felt beforehand ebbed completely away.

"Dr Hooper?" Alex asked, extending her hand.

"Molly, please, I prefer it." She had a very small handshake – the polar opposite of John Watson.

"Come with me, I'll show you to the mortuary. Sherlock's in the lab trying to extract information from a murder victim's jewellery and clothes, so he's busy. I've got post- mortems to do, so I can't keep an eye on him all the time. As much as I'd like to!"

Molly looked very coy as she said it and her cute smile became a remorseful frown as soon as the last word escaped her lips. Alex had her opinions about the undertones of Molly's last sentence and obvious shyness, but was sure not to voice them. Walking through the elaborate corridors of Bart's, she contemplated the thought that Molly had a thing about Sherlock.

The lab was quite large and covered top to toe in test tubes, slides, petri dishes, computers and samples everywhere. Sherlock, of course, was eyes deep in science equipment. Alex was sure she could sketch him staring into a microscope purely from memory because she had seen the image so much.

"What you doing?" Alex asked, approaching Sherlock as Molly began to make her way out of the lab. Ignoring Alex completely, Sherlock snapped out of his trance and looked directly at Molly.

"Coffee, please, Molly. The usual way I have it." The audacity of the man! Molly was a pathologist, not his PA. Neither was Alex for that matter. Molly stood awkwardly by the door twiddling her fingers. She smiled and whispered "ok" as if put into total submission and turned around slowly and out the door to obey the detective. Alex followed her, not caring about Sherlock at that point. If he stabs himself in the hand with a scalpel, or accidentally ingests a volatile bacteria, it's his own stupid fault, Alex thought.

"Molly, don't worry about that, I'll do it." Alex said, chasing after the pathologist and eventually catching up with her at the entrance to what appeared to be a very small kitchen, small enough for one person only, really.

"Oh, ok, but you don't have to, I can…" Molly stammered.

"No, no you've got stuff to do. I'll take care of His Royal Highness, even though he doesn't deserve it!." Molly laughed and left the kitchen. Alex then thought of something.

"Molly!" She called down the corridor, "How _does _Sherlock have his coffee? I've only ever made him tea."

"Black with two sugars." Molly replied before escaping around a corner.

"Maybe I'll put salt in it to show him not to be an arrogant arse!" Alex said to herself. She genuinely considered it for a minute. But then thought better of it.

"Thank you, Molly." Sherlock said after Alex had re-entered the lab and passed the coffee to him.

"Not Molly, Alex!" She almost shouted at him. Sherlock didn't seem to notice at all and continued to stare down the lens.

Alex perched on the stool to Sherlock's left and stared about her, feeling the inevitable effects of boredom. She then realised that she had taken her notebook and pen with her, and brought that out of her bag. The noise awakened the consulting detective.

"What are you doing here? Where's John and Molly?" Honestly! Alex thought.

"God, Sherlock, for a highly intelligent being you really are clueless sometimes!" Alex had no problem being brutally honest with the man. He did that all the time with everybody else.

"Clueless? What are you talking about?" Sherlock really didn't know.

"John had to go to A&E because of an emergency and Molly has her own work to do, so John asked me to stay with you here. He must have told you."

Sherlock thought for a moment. Had John told him? He couldn't remember. There was no way he would own up to being, as Alex said, clueless.

Alex thought back to Molly and how insecure she appeared around Sherlock. She was fine in the corridor, but when she saw Sherlock she was like a wobbly jelly. She went to get the coffee so obediently. Did she fancy Sherlock? Alex pondered this, staring at the man next to her. He still was oblivious to her presence, or he just didn't care. When he was working, nothing but the case mattered. Sherlock began to mutter to himself incoherently between slide changes.

"What you saying?" Alex asked.

"Nothing." Sherlock said. He instantly stopped his little speech and Alex was once again bored. Surely he wouldn't get up to much if she left him for a bit? It didn't seem like a place where he could get himself in trouble.

"I'm just going to get myself a drink."

Of course, the great man didn't react at all and Alex was actually feeling quite angry with him. No, it's not about me! Alex thought. If he has a case to crack there can't be any distractions. It actually would have been best for me not to come and Sherlock is just in 'work-mode.'

Alex entered the kitchen, not really caring whether it was her place to help herself to a drink or not. She just needed to get out of the space that Sherlock's body and aura occupied. Just as she was taking the teabag out of the mug she had selected, Molly Hooper appeared at the door.

"Oh, hi. Sorry, just came in to get myself a coffee." She said.

Alex made way for her and moved to the door entrance. Curiosity was still burning in her mind about this woman.

"How long have you known Sherlock?" Alex asked.

"Erm, about six months now. You?"

"Only six weeks. I live at Baker Street in the basement flat of 221b, which is actually 221C." Alex said, sipping her tea, but finding out the hard way that it was much too hot. It scalded her tongue and throat maliciously. She tried to contain the pain and hoped that Molly did not notice.

"Yeah, John was saying. So… what's living with Sherlock like?" Molly was showing the same shyness as she did around Sherlock as well as a hidden eagerness to know the answer.

"Interesting!" Alex enunciated deliberately, almost satirically and rolling her eyes to the ceiling. Molly giggled.

"Yeah, I can imagine it is! He's quite the genius."

"Yep, he is. So, you've known him for six months. How long have you liked him?" Alex asked the sweet looking pathologist, watching her become rather sceptical.

"W-what do you mean?" She stuttered, frowning for the second time in the half an hour Alex had known her.

"Well, it's kinda obvious you have a little bit of a crush on him." Molly looked rather embarrassed.

"Well… y-yes I do think he is… attractive." She seemed like she had been dying to tell someone this for some time.

"Attractive?" Alex asked, "When he treats you like a doormat?"

"No, well, he's like that only when he's working, really."

"So, why _do_ you like him? Not being out of order, but he doesn't seem to feel the same way about you." Molly didn't need to think about her answer.

"He's, just, well, he's… gorgeous! Tall, dark and… and…" She seemed lost in a dream.

"Handsome?" Alex finished her sentence for her, with a smirk. Although a lesbian, Alex wasn't blind. Sherlock was a very good looking man. Looked even better though when he smiled and didn't scowl like he did while performing those bizarre experiments.

"Y-yeah!" Molly giggled and then turned to make her coffee.

"I really do like him, but, it is true he doesn't feel the same. I just melt when I'm around him, I can't think, I can't function properly."

"You're in love with him." Alex said, in a statement tone. It wasn't a question, it was a fact. Molly Hooper was well and truly floored now. She stared at Alex in disbelief, but in realisation that she was, indeed, deeply in love with Sherlock Holmes.

Molly went back to her post mortems, whilst Alex checked up on Sherlock. Before she opened the big heavy fire door to the lab, she looked through the window to see Sherlock clearing up the slides and dishes.

"All done?" Alex asked entering the lab, as Sherlock switched off the computer beside the microscope and reached for his blue and black striped scarf.

"Yes – need to meet Lestrade at Scotland Yard." He said, taking out his BlackBerry and sending a text at breakneck speed. After the large black coat went on, he strode towards the door as if he was going to leave and completely ignore Alex. What was she meant to do? There was still time to visit Hyde Park and grab some lunch if he didn't want her with him. But he stopped as he came close to Alex, looking at her for the first time that day. Alex felt her anger towards him flow away. Damn that ethereal manipulative charm!

"Do you wish to join me? I might need an assistant." He asked.

"I don't know anything about the case, sorry." Alex answered, not knowing what he would get out of her considering she was only there to 'assist' him.

"I'll fill you in on the way there; it's quite simple." Sherlock's face diverted to his pocket as his phone sounded. He acknowledged the text and turned his attention back to Alex.

"Ready?"

Before Alex could answer, Sherlock had sharply turned to the door, shoved it open as if the thing had dared to get in his way, and swaggered out of the hospital with Alex right behind him.

"Daniel Warszak, 42, found stabbed down an alleyway adjacent to the Spider's Web nightclub. Stabbed fourteen times, but at different angles, showing that the person or persons responsible were either ambidextrous and they rapidly changed the knife from one hand to the other – highly unlikely – or that there was more than one murderer, one right and the other left handed." Sherlock summarised the case. "So, when you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. There was more than one killer, so obvious even Anderson would have come to this conclusion. According to the nightclub bouncers, and the CCTV footage let's not forget, Daniel left the club alone and went down the alleyway as it was the more direct route to his home. Nobody left the alleyway at the nightclub side entrance, or the other side. So, the murders left the scene along the way."

"Any CCTV down the alleyway?" Alex asked.

"No – but I took a tour down the path and noticed that there were eight points of entrance and exit. I took samples and photos of the locations, samples of the crime scene and, of course, the victim. It's the busiest forensics investigation I have ever done! Still, only took me an hour to sort out all the samples and figure out who was responsible for the crime."

"Who are the killers?" Alex asked.

"It… ah, here we are, Scotland Yard. Never have been here before, have you?" Sherlock asked, handing a £20 note to the cabbie.

"Nope." Alex answered whilst disembarking the vehicle, staring up at the large building and eyeing the rotating sign. She had only ever seen it on the telly. It was unreal to see it in real life. Sherlock smiled at her, noticing that Alex was somewhat awestruck.

"We'll need to see Lestrade as soon as possible."

Once inside, Sherlock knew exactly where in the building to go as if it were his own office, and sure enough, Alex saw the same 40ish DI she had seen some weeks before. Lestrade was sitting quite relaxed in his glass office, phone in hand, bored expression, feet up on his desk, absent–mindedly twiddling a pen nib downwards on the desk and creating a dark small circle as if the desk didn't matter.

Alex recognised Sally Donovan and Anderson at nearby desks, glaring at Sherlock and Alex as they strode through the place. Alex saw that Anderson quickly diverted his attention to his paperwork, not wanting to look at Sherlock for any length of time. Donovan kept her contemptuous eyes trained on them both, trying to watch for any opportunity to call Sherlock a Freak.

Once in Lestrade's office, as if his own boss had walked in, Lestrade quickly planted his feet on the floor and discarded the pen immediately and ended the conversation he was having on the telephone. He almost looked pleased to see Sherlock who in turn seemed completely comfortable with the DI.

"So, how'd you get on?" Lestrade looked at the two people in his office, trying to recall his last meeting with Alex Price. She observed as the recollection dawned on his face. He gestured to them both to sit down.

"The murderers were these two." Sherlock handed two CCTV freeze-frame pictures to Lestrade. He eyed them keenly, holding them close to his face.

"David and Luke O'Neill, brothers. They were hiding in the garden of a vacant ground floor flat and jumped Daniel as he went down the alleyway. I would say it was probably due to old scores, money most likely considering your background on Daniel which showed that he was in financial difficulties and owed money to a lot of people."

Lestrade looked eternally grateful and the two men chatted for a bit over the killers' motives, as Alex's mind was distracted by the uncomfortable feeling there was someone staring at them both. She turned her head to see Donovan at her desk, but glowering at Sherlock. Her focus then turned to Alex, but the expression didn't change. She and I will have words, Alex thought to herself.

"Right, I'll get some warrants. Thanks for your help." Lestrade said with genuine gratitude and Sherlock rose from his seat as Lestrade went to the door of his office on a warpath to obtain the warrants. As the three of them emerged, Alex heard the voice of someone she really didn't want to hear a single word from.

"So, your boyfriend and you not getting on then, Freak?" Donovan had caught the attention of about five different people around her and had finally found an excuse to use _that word_. Sherlock just looked at her dismissively, not wanting to engage in conversation or give her the satisfaction of an explanation. He continued to follow Lestrade out of the main office. Alex really wasn't going to put up with this and she stayed where she was the second she heard Sally Donovan speak.

"Why do you call him a Freak, Donovan?" She said, turning square onto her opposition, resting her weight on her right leg. The curly haired woman mirrored the writer's stance as she rose from her seat.

"Cos he is. He's a weirdo. Surely you can see that." Donovan truly had the attention of most of the members of the Met on her floor now, but many couldn't see because of the partition behind her.

"Actually, no. He's far from a Freak. He's a genius and a million times smarter than you in a single cell of his body." Alex gave Donovan one last glare that said 'I'm watching you' before turning to follow her companion, who had actually stopped in the middle of the floor to witness the stand-off.

Alex almost dreaded the next words that would come out of the detective's mouth. However, there were none. Sherlock just watched her approach, looking her directly in the eye and nowhere else. Then, he shot a nonchalant look to Donovan before turning on his heels to exit the floor. Lestrade took a left as Sherlock and Alex went to the right to the lifts. The awkward atmosphere between them could be cut with a knife. Sherlock stood in the lift as if Alex wasn't there. Like he had behaved earlier at the lab. But, as the lift began to slow before it hit the ground floor, his shoulders relaxed and he turned his head to Alex.

"Thank you." He said. Reluctant gratitude in his tone. An urgent compulsion to inform his female companion that he did not need defending was present, but he know that a only woman could face off against another woman. Alex had shown him loyalty – _and _friendship, possibly – and confidence in him as a detective, but also as a friend.

**I love the blossoming friendship between Alex and Sherlock. May do some Alex and Lestrade/Alex and John stuff, but I DEFINITELY want to include a girl fight between Alex and Donovan. Need to build the heat between the two so when they fight, it is war! Hope you enjoyed! **


	9. Bringing Down The Wall

**Time for another mystery, I reckon. But I couldn't resist showing Alex's writing experiences and Sherlock suffering with a migraine. Enjoy the journey! **

On a particularly hot summer's morning, Alex had pretty much worked her fingertips to the bone typing all day. Not really one for hot weather, she preferred staying in rather than going out. The blazing rays of the sun and the heat was a perfect recipe for the mother of all headaches. She had flown the windows of the flat open and all the doors, The door to the back garden was also wide open, letting in a lovely breeze. Still, this wasn't enough. She had put two fans on and finally decided to take her laptop to the coolest room in the flat – the bedroom - to continue her spree. Alex could work herself into a trance writing. It was exhilarating.

Once poised, hands at the ready and just about to begin a typing stint, Alex would often feel sharp agonising pain throughout her body. There was often a wall in the way of her path. She would have to move forward and gain all the strength she would have to climb it. Sometimes, she'd have to scale walls over 20ft, and then abseil down to the bottom. Either that or fall. The fall was more of a relief than a scary journey to the ground. She would land on her feet, feel the aftershocks of the electric shoots of pain through her that would stun her for a moment before realising that the Long Road to Absolution lay stretched out in front of her.

But there was a problem. She could only see a couple of metres in front of her including the grass that laid either side of the curbs to the path. The horizon was obscured by a white fog and the only way to clear the path was always to walk forward.

Then, Alex would notice something. She was wearing thigh high boots that had eight inch heels, making them impossible to walk in. But she would have no choice. She would have to keep walking and try all of her tolerance levels to rise above the pain in her feet, knees and back. Over time, the more she walked the fog would clear and she would be able to see several metres in front of her. The heels on the boots would shrink, the top of the boots would move down her leg, taking the agonising pressure off her back and her knees would eventually become eternally grateful for the release. Soon the boots would become ankle high. Then they would turn into shoes with a small heel. She could walk in these no problem and the walking would become a normal stroll in the park for Alex.

However, this was not the desired effect. The shoes would eventually transform magically into trainers. Thick soled running trainers with a soft inner sole to cushion her feet perfectly. The horizon would clear some more and in a blast of energy surging through her body from inside her very being, Alex would begin to jog. Then sprint. She could run and run and run, so fast and for so long that she would then be riding on a wave of euphoria. She would never tire. More of the path in the distance would only give her a push to go further and faster, wishing – no, _needing – _to explore the rest of the journey. The rush of endorphins was phenomenal and once she would feel this exhilaration, she would crave it and want it all the more.

She was in this mode today, feeling so happy and high from just tapping away. She hadn't realised that the little finger on her left hand had completely seized up. She only noticed this after a couple of spelling mistakes, which were errors she hardly made. Such a perfectionist would never allow a word to be disrespected in such a way as to spell it wrong. Taking her hands away from the keyboard, and noticing the rush ebb away, she found that from the elbow of her left arm right to the tip of the little finger was aching like hell. She had been so high on endorphins that she had not noticed the pain. RSI was a big problem, but the biggest pain Alex felt now was the loss of the wonderful sensation and the landscape she was running through.

Clutching her wrist, she screwed up her face in pain and lay down on the bed, sweltering in the heat. After half an hour she had cooled off and checked the number of words she had written that day. She had started at 9:40am and it was now 4:25pm. She hadn't even had a drink or used the bathroom. Not only was it bad enough that she had the most horrendous pain in her arm, she needed to tend to her other bodily functions. But, before that, checking the number of words put a lighter note on the feeling of loss of the absence of the thrill of running down the path. Ten thousand, three hundred and eighty one words! That is a result, Alex thought.

An hour and a lukewarm shower later, she decided to check out John's blog. She saw the latest entry, The Speckled Blonde, and read its content. John and Sherlock had solved a mystery of a blonde woman covered in 'speckles' only yesterday and John had only just written it up today. This would account for them being absent from the house that night. Alex had spent the evening with Mrs Hudson watching the soaps and she had finally talked her into watching Paranormal Activity, which wasn't really a good idea. The poor woman had quite a sleepless night!

As she was making herself a well-earned cup of tea after rehydrating herself with plenty of water, slightly salted given the hot atmosphere, she heard a knock at the door. A light knock: definitely Mrs H.

"It's open, Mrs Hudson." The little lady briskly made her way into the living room.

"Alex, darling, I wondered if you wanted a piece of the chocolate cake I made today with some custard?" The thought made Alex's head swoon.

"Oh, yes, please, Mrs H!"

Leaving her tea in the kitchen she joined her landlady in her own flat, which was currently playing host to John Watson. He had a knife poised above the large rectangle shaped cake, whilst a large jug of custard revolved and heated in the microwave.

"How much do you want?" He asked as if he had expected her.

"Big piece, please. Not eaten a thing all day." She confessed.

"Not a thing?" John said as he once again morphed into Doctor John Watson.

"Nope, been working all day."

"Working, you mean writing?" He asked, cutting the cake.

"Yep. It was amazing. Strange that I was just there in my flat but I feel I have run two back to back marathons!" Alex could hardly contain the after effects of the euphoria. "Sorry, I'm sure you don't want me to bore you with my crazy love for writing!" She giggled.

"Oh no, it's fine. It's good that you love your work that much. Actually, you sound a bit like Sherlock when he's on a case!"

The three of them sat in Mrs Hudson's kitchen for the next forty-five minutes guzzling chocolate cake. They all felt quite sick after. Alex had a rather strong stomach and actually could eat some more, but this wouldn't be a good idea.

"Where's Sherlock, John?" Mrs Hudson asked.

"He's upstairs doing whatever he wants, as usual."

"Is he being annoying again?" Alex asked.

"Well, he was complaining about his head, so he went to bed and drew the curtains. I'm sure it's a migraine, but, unlike most people, he doesn't rest when he's not well. He gets bored and has to find something to do, then complains he's ill, gets bored again… It's a bit of a vicious circle."

"Would some cake help?" Mrs Hudson asked. Bless her, always looking out for her boys, Alex thought to herself.

"I'll try!" John said, taking the plate and making his way to the door to take the cake to his friend.

"Sherlock and a migraine doesn't sound like a good combination!" Alex said to Mrs Hudson.

The two women sat in silence for a bit as Alex leant back to help her body accommodate the copious amounts of sweet food she had taken in. A sugar rush after an adrenalin rush was quite a mix and maybe not the best because it had her feeling kind of feverish

"The git is still sulking in his room and doesn't want food!" John stormed back in. "Sorry, Mrs H, I just wish he's let me help him sometimes. I need to get back upstairs to keep an eye on him, I suppose."

John and Alex left their landlady's flat at the same time, however, Alex couldn't face being in her own alone without the energy or strength to write again and asked John if she could join him.

"We could always watch crap telly or a Bond film while Mr Sulky-Drawers is whinging in his room?" Alex asked the doctor, who agreed immediately. The consulting detective would not be the only one dying of boredom if John and Alex had nothing better to do that evening than enjoy one another's company.

After watching Coronation Street, Eastenders and the second instalment of Coronation Street that night in silence, there were signs of life coming from Sherlock's room just behind the kitchen.

"Joooohn!" Sherlock called out, "Has Lestrade called? I need a case!"

"No, Sherlock!" John didn't dare move from his comfortable seat, which was usually Sherlock's, opposite the telly.

"Bored! When's the next case? My head hurts cos it's bored, John, I need to work!"

"God, he sounds like a whining child!" Alex said. "I'll go to him."

She almost regretted it as soon as she entered the room, as the pyjama clad detective was pacing furiously about the floor, rubbing his temples. He stopped dead when he saw her, eyes darting over her form, deducing her, pulling her apart.

"Just had tea, had cake earlier, another one of Mrs Hudson's fabulous ideas, no doubt. Fingertips are almost dented and red and your left little finger is curled up as if in spasm; you've been writing profusely today, for hours. Not long had a shower, watching soaps with John – from the sound in the living room, not from anything you have just displayed. Eaten a bit too much, have we?" He finally said, alighting on Alex's tummy, noticing that it was slightly swollen. Once again, Sherlock had picked her apart and it did not feel good. But she had developed a kind of resilience to his deductions and after a second of two of composing herself she sighed and extended her left hand to the bed.

"What about the bed?" Sherlock was wringing his hands and shaking, itching for something, anything to occupy his mind.

"Get in it." Alex demanded.

"Why? I've been in it for two hours and it hasn't done my head any good!"

"It would if you just relax and take some painkillers." She tried to appease him.

"I've taken painkillers! John! Has Lestrade called?" Sherlock lifted his head and called to John.

"NO!" John repeated.

"Arrgh!" Sherlock groaned before turning around to once again walk in small circles.

The two of them were silent for a few minutes as Sherlock paced the room, sweating and trembling. Alex almost felt sorry for him. Not because he had a migraine, but because he was literally going crazy with boredom. Then, they both heard a familiar ring tone coming from the living room. It stopped after just two seconds. Sherlock immediately knew what that meant.

"John Watson!" He called, stomping into the living room and almost sending Alex flying. The detective grabbed his aching head on the way as if trying to actually keep it on his neck.

"That was Lestrade, wasn't it?" John looked like a schoolboy being caught out for passing notes around the classroom.

"Give me my phone, John. GIVE ME MY PHONE!" John had no choice but to comply.

Sherlock returned Lestrade's call so quick; John and Alex barely had time to process that he had taken back both his phone and control of his evening.

"Lestrade! It's John's fault, he doesn't want me to work today. No, I'm fine!" He cried, squeezing his eyes and cradling his head. Clearly not fine.

"Right, ok… Of course. Thank you." He said calmly before terminating the call.

"Family of three went missing in Brixton, suspicious circumstances. Coming?" He asked John, who still was gawping unbelievably at his best friend.

"Only if you get dressed and promise not to complain about your head for the rest of the day!" John dictated.

"Alright! I'll be ready in a minute. You coming too, Alex?" He really didn't have to ask this.

The three of them shared a rather dull cab journey to the crime scene in Brixton, which was a little exasperating due to the fact that Sherlock clearly was still experiencing a severe headache. Whenever he felt himself express it in his face or vocally, he would shoot a look at John to make sure he didn't display his reaction to the pain in front of his friend. John had, after all, agreed to go with him on the proviso that he wouldn't whinge about his migraine. Alex watched John keep one eye on Sherlock all the way through the drive to Brixton and every so often, he would glance at Alex as the two read each other's minds. The detective was not feeling well, but he would not admit it.

The house was tall and narrow, much like 221b Baker Street, and CID had sectioned off the area. Anderson, clad in a blue paper suit, was waiting outside, and immediately his face fell when the three of them approached the crime scene.

"Remember, Freak and you two, do not mess with anything! Get what you need and leave!" Anderson was clearly not having a good day. Donovan was also outside supervising, but didn't even shoot a look towards the three intruders, or Anderson. But when Alex let her eyes linger on her for a moment or too longer than her companions, the sergeant reciprocated with an equally loathing glare.

"Funnily enough, Anderson, that's exactly what I was planning to do. I'm sure you have places to go, such as your new flat. You've just left your wife, yes?" Sherlock said as it if was a statement rather than a question.

"Oh God, not this again!" Anderson was not amused by any means.

"Yes, Anderson, plus the fact that you have had a row with Donovan about whether you could stay with her."

"Now look here, Freak, this is none of your bus – "

"Donovan is standing two metres further away from you than normal and has not reacted in any way to your usual display of animosity towards me this evening – makes a change from how she normally relishes in your schoolyard bullying tactics. You have used different shampoo to what you used to use at home with your wife and you missed a bit by your ear while shaving – when it is actually your wife who shaves your beard each day. The soft touch of a woman is rather obvious." Sherlock continued, "You only removed your wedding ring in the last week and you clearly haven't kept yourself as presentable as normal. The fact that the shampoo and shaving foam are rather cheap means that you have had to fork out a _large _sum on a renting a flat at short notice…"

"ENOUGH! Just get in there, do what you need to and GET THE HELL OUT!" The man actually had tears in his eyes. Alex and John looked at one another as they both observed this. Although all three of them disliked Anderson, this was pushing the boundary. Sherlock nodded and, still with his hands behind his back, strode into the building.

"Sherlock, if you'd like to come with me, please? They both with you?" Lestrade asked.

"No… They're here for the good of their health; of course they're with me!" Sherlock was unusually aggressive towards the DI. John caught Sherlock's elbow as they moved from the hallway to the living room of the house and leant forward to whisper in his ear.

"I'm sorry you're not feeling well but please watch what you say to people? Concentrate on the case."

"Anderson is stupid." Sherlock retorted.

"There was no need to go as far as you did and there was definitely no call for what you just said to Lestrade. Just focus!" John's words seemed to have the desired effect.

John and Alex donned paper suits that were on a make shift table in the kitchen of the house. Sherlock, of course, would not reduce himself to wearing such a thing or be someone that would.

"Hmm… Three missing. A kidnapping is the only possible solution." Sherlock asked.

"It's possible, yes." Lestrade answered, "Brian and Mary Collinson and their fifteen year old daughter Amelia. Neighbours called when they noticed that the telly was turned up quite high, even though this was not very unusual. They called round to ask them to turn it down but found that nobody responded. She found that the front door was not properly bolted, and called the police."

"So," Sherlock interrupted, "the telly was left on, on a high volume and the neighbours asked them to turn it down. On high to die down screams, conversation or to disguise something." The detective exited the living room and entered the kitchen where the forensics team had set up their equipment on the homeowner's surfaces. Why would they have been taken out of the house, and surely, on such a busy road someone would have noticed?

Alex and John looked at each other as their friend meandered from the kitchen to the living room, to the hallway and back.

"Looking upstairs is not necessary. They were led out of the house by force but not physical force. There are no signs of struggle." Sherlock deduced.

"We know that!" Anderson snapped as he too entered the house.

"Really, I _am_ pleased to hear that, Anderson. But did you know that the kidnappers were let into the house by occupants – actually _invited_ in? There are prints on the rug in the hallway that show they were wearing outdoor boots and they walked in, yes, that's it, walked. Calmly. The house owner walked behind them, shows that they were let in as guests. They, two of them, left with the Collinsons in tow. The TV was turned up so the neighbours would not perchance hear them make threats to coerce the three of them out of the house and into the car that was waiting."

"Car? How do you know a car was waiting?" Anderson screwed up his face as he spoke.

"How else would you kidnap three people? A van would have been too conspicuous, it had to be a car, reasonably small and not unusual, otherwise it would have drawn attention."

"How do you know there have been no witnesses?" Anderson cried, still wanting to find fault with the consulting detective.

"Lestrade would have told me immediately and if any vehicle had been spotted, the police would be out there looking for it. Kidnappers are far too smart for this. They would have done all they could to make it seem casual, forgettable. This was planned, alright; premeditated. This was either a personal or financial situation. Only those two possibilities fits!" Sherlock looked positively elated. None of the people in the room could deny what he said fit the picture.

"One question, Sherlock," John asked, "how did you come to the assumption that it was a 'kidnapping' just because the family were not in their property and the telly was on loud?" Alex thought John did have a good point.

"Because nobody would turn their television up as loud as this and leave their property. Especially with their wallet and keys still in the home, half a cup of tea still sitting there, the door to the back garden is off the latch, the Chubb lock on the outer door isn't locked when the marks on the inside of the lock show that the key is turned in that lock very, very frequently." Sherlock was on fire this evening and he knew it.

"The only issue is; if the kidnappers were so thorough why would they leave the TV on loud to rouse the neighbours' attention and why would they neglect to ensure that the property looked like the family had simply left of their own accord?" Sherlock asked himself as he continued to eye up the room.

"Hmm… they wanted the neighbour to come around, they wanted the property discovered in this state?" Alex asked.

"That, Alex, seems to be the obvious solution to this little conundrum, but is it really? This case is not as obvious as it seems. Need a background on the family, Lestrade, CCTV, neighbours' statements, everything. Send it to 221b as soon as possible, please."

The DI nodded, and Sherlock, John and Alex exited the house. Sherlock's face had a tiny bit of colour in it and his eyes were wider than they were twenty minutes earlier.

"Feeling any better?" Alex asked. The detective's face was a picture of excitement and elation.

"Better? Nothing gets better than this!"

**To be honest, this chapter was a pain in the neck to write! Had to do two drafts. Sorry, but the girl fight I mentioned last time is still a few chapters away. Really want to get Donovan and Alex hating each other lots more before the fight. I've already decided who wins, who do you think will win? X**


	10. The Missing Family

**Part Two of the mystery of the kidnapped family. Truth be told, I didn't think this mystery through, I winged it! I think it works though, please let me have your views! Feedback is the elixir of life to us writers – just like tea is to us British.**

Back at 221b, Sherlock, John and Alex assembled in the living room and realised Mrs Hudson had been hard at work tidying up after the boys. The kitchen floor was spotless and there wasn't an inch of dust anywhere – except for the fireplace. Mrs H never went near that skull. Sherlock took up his place on the sofa, hands together resting on his chest and feet perfectly stuck together to the toe – which were pointed and stayed in that position at the end of the sofa. It would only be a few minutes until Lestrade delivered the items that Sherlock wanted. Till then, neither John nor Alex knew what to do. A cup of tea was in order.

John tried his hardest to concentrate on making the tea, but kept placing his hands on the edge of the counter and shaking his head, deep in thought. Alex too was confounded. It didn't make sense.

She remembered the crime scene and wondered if the truth did actually fit that it was a financial matter. If it was personal, why would they take the fifteen year old girl? She couldn't be allowed to stay behind as a witness but why did they _apparently_ make it obvious to the neighbours that something was wrong. Or were they clever enough to just focus on getting them out of the house rather than covering their tracks. Someone else was thinking the same thing.

"The telly being left on was a mistake," Sherlock suddenly broke the silence of the room, "so was the fact of the doors not being locked. They were eager to get the people out of the house; they thought that things like the telly being on were trivial. They were on a deadline and had no time to make sure they had covered all angles." Sherlock deduced. John had put Sherlock's tea on the coffee table beside him. He didn't bother to sit down. Like Sherlock and Alex, John was trying to piece together what had happened even though not all the evidence was present.

Alex turned her head towards the skull, using it as a focal point to channel her thoughts. At times like this, she really wished she had the same mental discipline as Sherlock. John, although a practical man, also couldn't deny that Sherlock's mind was a wonderful piece of work and secretly had a fantasy that he would notice or find something out that Sherlock wouldn't. Almost losing himself in this dream, he went back to making tea and found that like Alex and the skull, doing something else did help him concentrate. Both of them knew that the main priority was finding the family and even though this was what John would also be thinking about, the pair of them understood that the detective would only be focused on why, who and how. Not where.

Springing up from his seat as if it were a piece of choreography in a ballet, Sherlock made his way to the kitchen and produced a small packet from the cupboard. Pulling out the contents, and opening three smaller packets, he applied what Alex could only see were nicotine patches to his right forearm. Three patches!

"Why the hell are you putting _three patches_ on your arm? You don't smoke." Alex asked.

"It's a three-patch-problem…" Sherlock said, making his way to the sofa before taking up his previous position on it and making strange groaning noises, which John and Alex would have found funny at any other time but they both were aware that this was an involuntary side effect of having three patches on the arm. Alex ventured over to the kitchen and observed that the patches were 21mg each!

"You do realise that too much nicotine could be dangerous!" Alex said, going into 'mother' mode again. Ever since John, Mrs Hudson and Mycroft had asked, or rather insisted, that she looked after the six foot child who was currently in a stretched out position on the sofa, she had never really shaken the responsibility.

"Helps me think. Thinking solves problems." The detective half answered her.

Fifteen minutes later, Lestrade arrived with two crates of documents, tapes and other bits and pieces that Sherlock would find useful. He had handed two piles of paper to John and Alex, financial records, bank and credit card statements and even a print out from a credit agency giving the rating of Brian and Mary Collinson.

"They have a good rating." John said. "But whether your credit rating is good or not does actually depend on who is checking it."

"True." Sherlock commented.

"No major withdrawals, repayments to loan companies or incoming money from any other source apart from work. There's nothing I can find on the joint bank account records." Alex had searched each statement over the year and it was quite a routine that the Collinsons went through each month financially. They were very careful, and always had something behind.

"They had an overdraft that they never actually went into. £2,500 to be exact. You can only get an overdraft like that with a good rating and income and to stay out of it being a family of three is remarkable." Alex locked pointedly at Sherlock as if to get his approval. She was rewarded with a small smile and a nod. He then held his hand out to her, asking for the statements so he could review them himself. She obliged and looked on as he all but flicked them in his hands then set them down. He definitely would have noticed everything on them despite the seconds he took checking them.

"CCTV. From four different points of view of the street. This should tell us everything we need to know…"

Just as Sherlock spoke, his phone sounded. Promptly picking it up to answer it, acknowledging this by declaring the caller's name, Lestrade, his face changed from calm, to confused, to surprised to pleased all in the space of less than thirty seconds.

"Brian Collinson's brother, Marcus, reported his red Vauxhall Astra stolen earlier today. What's the betting that this was used as the getaway car?!"

Sherlock was like a kid finally watching his favourite programme after waiting ages for it. Sure enough, it was a red P-reg Vauxhall Astra that was parked next to the house. The three of them waited for the family to enter. The windows were tinted and there was no way to identify the driver of the car.

Sure enough, a middle aged man, a woman and a young woman exited the house and made their ways to the car. But the strange thing was that they were not being escorted by anyone. Nobody had entered the house, either. Sherlock had deduced that the kidnappers had entered the house after being invited in, but what they were all seeing didn't wash with that theory.

"He's holding a phone to his ear…" Sherlock declared solemnly, not noticing the flaw in his earlier deductions, or just too proud to publicly acknowledge them.

"Notice the way they are walking?" Sherlock moved forward to the TV, pointed at the screen and looked back at his two colleagues as if he were a lecturer at a University.

"They are frightened, like they're being threatened. Very stiff, obedient. The person speaking to Mr Collinson is the kidnapper. But who is he?" Sherlock ran his right index and thumb over his chin in consideration of the situation. Alex and John both longed to hear what was going on in that head. It was often frustrating when Sherlock only gave clues as to what they were. Soon, his hands palmed together and he went into one of his trances again for several minutes as the tape played out. It was twenty-three minutes and five seconds before the neighbour went over to the house. A small, slightly obese woman in what could only be described in the grainy grey picture as floral and rather old fashioned dress hurried over and rang the doorbell. Ten minutes later, a police car arrived and ten minutes after that, Lestrade and CID appeared. It was twenty more minutes when Sherlock, John and Alex arrived. They had seen enough.

John switched off the VCR. They had tried all angles of the CCTV and at no time could they identify the getaway driver. This was all very odd. Sherlock's phone sounded again. He answered as swiftly as a cowboy would withdraw his gun and fire in the blink of an eye, not moving any muscle of his body or his eyes from the TV screen, although it was now blank.

"Lestrade. You have? Fantastic. Where is it? We'll be there."

"What?" John asked.

"The Astra. It's been found at an abandoned car factory in South London. Let's go."

Sherlock, John and Alex were approached by Lestrade as they appeared at the site. It was the dark and most of what they could see was lit up by torches and large lamps. The consulting detective had eyes like a hawk, but didn't need to examine any part of the car. Ignoring urges from Anderson to keep away, he opened the passenger door of the car and then the glove compartment. It was as if he knew what would be inside it before he even looked at the many papers that were concealed in the small area.

"Here they are. Statements and receipts, shows that it is the brother, not Brian Collinson, who is in debt. Lots of debt. Owed money by the thousands!" Sherlock seemed thrilled by the discovery.

"Loan sharks?" Alex asked.

"Yes! Been to loan sharks and tried to repay by gambling, judging by the locations of the terminals he withdrew cash from, but it didn't go the way he expected."

"What does this mean?" Lestrade asked. Even Anderson seemed keen. Alex noticed Donovan's presence several metres away, still not wishing to go near Anderson.

"It means that the kidnapped family were whisked away as a warning to Marcus. Marcus is unmarried and childless. His closest kin is his brother and his family."

"Like saying 'this is what will happen if you don't pay?'" John asked.

"Precisely. Tinted windows on his vehicle – perfect crime." Sherlock answered.

"Lestrade?" He turned to the DI, "You need to bring Marcus Collinson in for questioning, see if you can find out who did this and which loan sharks."

"What about the family? We need to find the family, Sherlock!" Lestrade shouted desperately.

"I take it you've searched the entire site?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes. With a fine tooth comb and they are not here!" Lestrade was getting more irate by the second.

"Well then. Let's ask the Astra!" Sherlock had such a big head it was really off putting. Alex and John just looked at one another and shook their heads.

The detective extracted a mini tool kit and crouched down by the vehicle's wheels, using cotton buds, tweezers, small knives and other items to examine the residue left on the rubber. Once he had finished, he literally sprang up and swung around to address his colleagues.

"Right, off to Bart's!"

"Oh God…" John exclaimed, rolling his eyes. But both John and Alex had to admire the man's determination. It never faltered.

Making their way to the main road to call another cab, Alex heard a voice behind her.

"So you actually like him? You like hanging round him?"

"Yeah. Yeah, Sally. I like him. In fact, he's what I would call a friend." Alex retorted, turning back around to catch up with her friends.

"A friend? You'll never be his friend. Well, you'll certainly never be anything more than a friend, if that's what you're hoping for." Donovan was really pushing her luck. Alex gritted her teeth as she slowly revolved to face the woman behind her.

"I happen to be a lesbian. Sherlock _is _a friend and that's none of your business."

Donovan gaped at the first sentence. She was genuinely not expecting it.

"A lesbian?" This time she wore a horrible smirk. She then pressed her lips together, slouched on her left leg and almost looked as if she had been given a fine in a tennis match for throwing a tantrum.

"That a problem?" Alex asked, not really caring if it was or not.

"Oh no! Not at all!" Sarcasm was ebbing out of her pores. "Just thought you had a thing for him. He's a psychopath. He really doesn't care about anyone. He only cares about the case, not the people or saving lives. Sherlock Holmes calls himself a 'high-functioning sociopath', but that's only because he can't call himself a 'high-functioning psychopath.'"

"What the bloody hell are you on about? You don't know a thing about him!" Alex rushed in defence of Sherlock Holmes.

"Oh I do. You're better off without him."

That was it!

"Donovan, why don't you just shut the hell up!? I choose to be his friend, I _choose _to help him. He's no psychopath, nor a sociopath. I've actually done research into that for a novel. Don't you dare say a bad word about him, Donovan, not in my presence."

The two women were face to face now, glaring into one another's eyes. The rest of CID were far away, too far away to notice. It was dark, but they could still see the glint in their eyes.

"Or you'll what?" Donovan said slowly. Alex was about to reply, when:

"Alex!" Sherlock was right behind Alex's left shoulder and she hadn't noticed. "We have to go." Not taking her stare from her nemesis, Alex obeyed, only looking away once she was too far away to see the sergeant's fade into the darkness.

"You really don't need to bother with her." Sherlock said as they walked back towards John and the main road.

"She's a bitch, Sherlock. She was being horrible about you. Had to put her straight. Says you're a psychopath. I'm guessing that's not the first time she's referred to you as that."

"No. I'm not a psychopath, I'm a hi…"

"High-functioning sociopath, yes she said that is how you refer to yourself." Alex finished for him, stopping to turn straight towards him. Sherlock reciprocated.

"You're neither of those things, Sherlock Holmes. I know you're not."

It was quite a moment in the dark of the night's sky and the shine of the moon and distant lamps. The consulting detective couldn't help but gaze back at the young writer, not being able to answer her. It stayed that way until another voice penetrated the atmosphere.

"Sherlock, Alex! Got a cab!" John called from the pavement a few metres away.

Once at the lab in Bart's, Sherlock was so deep in analysing the samples he got from the wheels of the car that Alex and John had nothing really to do. Molly Hooper was there and she assisted him with what he needed. He seemed to totally ignore her and was completely ungrateful for her assistance. Molly, of course was so smitten she would help him with whatever he needed. Alex caught a glimpse of her face when Sherlock snatched a test tube from her hand without taking his face away from the microscope. She looked like a kitten that had been told she couldn't have food. It was quite saddening to see her like that.

After twelve minutes, Sherlock awoke everyone in the room from their thoughts by banging his fists triumphantly on the lab table.

"A wood! A forest, somewhere where there are lots of trees, moss, sandy paths and a building that has been neglected!"

"Sorry, is that where the family is?" Alex asked.

"No, it's where I fancy going for a stroll, of _course _it's where the family is! We need to find out where it is asap."

Once again, at lightning speed, he whipped out his phone to contact Detective Inspector Lestrade.

"A wood with an old fashioned bunker, like where the army would train, or once trained. Not a house, no remnants of a house on the samples. Epping Forest? It would be somewhere close to London, the car was driven and left at the factory three hours after the kidnapping, so just at the edges of London."

They were almost out of Bart's now. Lestrade had actually been waiting for five minutes as he had driven there shortly after departing the place where the Astra was found.

"This could be anywhere, Lestrade, I'll have people out looking. Homeless Network."

"Ok, John, you go to the borders of South Mimms. There's a wood there, a car will pick you up at Scotland Yard. I'll go to Epping Forest." Sherlock had missed someone.

"Err… Sherlock, who do I go with? Or am I going somewhere else?" Alex queried as they got into the police car, all three squished in the back.

Sherlock looked pointedly at John, passing the buck of delivering news to a person with a more sympathetic tone.

"Um, Alex, it's best if you go back to Baker Street. This could get messy and we don't…"

"Excuse me!?" Alex cried out in rage. "Are you saying you don't trust me or you don't think I'd be able to handle it because I'm a woman!?" John's eyes widened and he looked at Sherlock for an answer to Alex's question. Returning to Alex, he swallowed hard and answered her.

"No… it's just probably going to get nasty and if the family have been killed or anything… I'm ex-military and Sherlock's used to seeing that kind of thing. It may be difficult for you, that's all. It's nothing to do with your sex."

"John, I've seen a dead body before – Sherlock took me to a crime scene the day after we met and…"

"Alex, this will be different." John was still trying to plead with her to put her own sanity and safety first.

"Could be dangerous." Sherlock said, looking at John smiling. The latter returned his best friend's look before attempting once again to make sure Alex would not get hurt.

"Please can I not come with one of you?" Alex implored. "I'll get bored at Baker Street on my own! Mrs Hudson's great but I'd rather help you with a case than chat over tea and cake. Don't make me beg like a child, it's embarrassing!" Alex's speech was irresistible. The two men looked at one another. Sherlock even seemed to care about her but Alex couldn't be sure of this.

"Alright. You can come with me to South Mimms. One thing goes wrong, you are going straight back to Baker Street!" John was quite the protective big brother. On the way to Scotland Yard, Alex had a thought.

"Come to think of it, there are woods in North Kent where the Collinsons could be. Chatham and Rainham. A relative of mine lives in Chatham and we used to go to Rainham woods. It isn't far from South London. They could have easily taken the family there and driven back in time."

Sherlock's eyes flickered about in thought.

"Hmm… Lestrade?" He called to the individual in the passenger seat. "Need to get another squad to Rainham, Kent. Possibly Surrey as well, let's cover all grounds."

The car was silent for a minute or too, apart from the purring of the engine and the occasional ticking of the indicator. Sherlock's deep croon broke it.

"How about you go to Rainham, Alex? The more of us spread out the better. You're quite familiar with those woods, I take it?"

"No, Sherlock! She's not going off on her own!" John shouted. Lestrade made a soft shush noise. In a softer voice than John had managed, Sherlock spoke again.

"She won't be on her own, she will have the police, CID and the dog squad with her. What do you say, Alex? Lestrade?"

Alex looked at the DI, who had turned his head around to question her with wide eyes. It was her call.

"Ok, no prob."

"Take your phone, put it on loud so you can hear and please please please text or call if you find anything or if anything untoward happens!" John emphasised his words with a hammering of his hand in mid-air as he spoke. He then raised his eyebrows, requesting her position on the matter.

"Of course. Don't worry, it'll be fine." Alex said.

**To be continued…**


	11. Through The Woods And Through The Glass

**Let's continue with the story…**

For the first time since the investigation into the case began, Alex was without the doctor and the detective. In the passenger seat of a dog squad car, she began to recognise the meandering, narrowing roads of Kent, the large fields and secluded houses. The sky was beginning to pale in the early hours of the morning and the moon's silver image was fading. The stars had almost completely disappeared. The woods were colossal, so the police were relying on several of them spreading out and the three German Shepherd and two Malinois dogs following the tracks of the most recent human scent.

Lestrade had gone with Sherlock to Epping Forest, and DI Dimmock, whom Sherlock and John had worked with during their case John called 'The Blind Banker' on his blog, had gone with John to South Mimms. London was surrounded by woods and countryside – the family could be anywhere. Alex was dreading finding the family dead. Clutching her phone fiercely in her hand, she held it to her chest, hoping against hope that the boys would call and let her know that the family were found alive and well. However, she was incredulous about that idea.

The squad car turned into a large field, where Alex could see that in the middle of the field was the boundary of a gigantic wood. Sure enough, as Sherlock had deduced, a car had driven down the sandy, rocky path very recently. But the ground was dry and there hadn't been much wind, so she wasn't sure how long ago it was as she crouched to the ground to examine the tyre tracks. She looked up to the sky, closing her eyes and felt the impending notion in her heart that the family were close.

"Here! Look at the tracks!" Alex shouted to the officers as they disembarked their vehicles, pointing to the ground. Several of them ran over, although some clearly refused to take the word of a young woman not on the force.

"Exactly the same treads as the Astra!" She moved away to give forensics room to do what they needed to. Forensics or not, all Alex needed was her own eyes.

"Over here!" Cried one of the officers. "Footprints! Release the dog!"

The dog in the back of the car Alex had travelled in was released. The other dogs and their handlers were at other locations in the area. Following the officers into the darkness, Alex's heart pounded harder than it ever had. They are here, definitely!

"Mr and Mrs Collinson! Brian, Mary! Amelia!" The sounds of the names of the missing family overlapped and reverberated around the trees but the echoes quickly filtered through the leaves, absorbed by the forestry. Torches beamed everywhere, like a light display at a gig in Hyde Park. Alex could hardly see where they were going and tripped a couple of times on branches and fallen logs. Her hands darted forward as she fell and it wasn't long before her hands were grazed and cut, flaring up and sore. Many officers had ran further forward. Some to the sides, covering as much as possible. Alex stuck by the three she had been able to keep up with, but they were trained for this. Plunging through a forest in the dark, and even though the sky had become a pale blue, the sun wasn't yet up and the crowds of trees were obstructing the journey at every opportunity.

Alex screamed as her phone rang.

"Alex, found anything?" John's voice resonated with optimism yet with a touch of doubt.

"No not yet, I'm trying to keep up with the officers. They have slowed down a little, they're all spreading out. A couple of the dogs have been released. I'm sure they're here, John. We've seen footprints and we're trying to track them."

"Good, that's good. We're going to have a look around here just to be sure and Sherlock is doing the same. Each team will let the other know if they find anything. Please be sure to let Sherlock and I know as soon as it happens." John asked of Alex.

"I will. Have to go now."

Alex kept her eyes on the horizon, watching the officers in their black uniforms shine their torches in all directions, voices overlapping and sounds of feet hitting the ground. The vibrations from the thuds could be felt through her feet. Soon, the officers were so sporadic, and the dog had gone so far into the distance, that she could no longer hear or see the police men and women who had ventured so far into the forest. The area was gaining light by the minute and more tall, lanky trees became visible. It was easier to see the fallen trees and work round them.

Out of breath and in need of a rest, Alex slowed and held onto a tree to keep from fainting. She hadn't eaten since having the cake the previous day and it was almost 24 hours since she awoke from her last sleep.

Looking around her, she was sure she was becoming more and more alone. It was getting quieter and the police were covering all the areas. But this was no time to flag. The Collinsons' lives depended on every able body to find them and save them. Using all of her willpower to pass a greater judgement on her body's protests against the constant moving, she propelled herself forward into a jog and within only a few minutes, she had caught up with the officers. Alex also joined in the shouting.

Being at the end of the trail was not enough, she had to be at the forefront. She had to find the family. Sheer determination pumping around her body and the _need _to bring an absolution to the matter. Running faster and ignoring the cries of the police behind her, urging her to slow down, she called and called with the others, hoping for an answer.

Only twenty metres ahead of her was the German Shepherd and its handler. The dog had definitely picked up on something and was winding through the forest quickly. Alex was sure the dog could have been faster, but it was trained to ensure that its handler could keep up.

Abruptly, it stopped. Its ears pricked and tail poised in a sitar shape, quivering and on red alert. It turned to give its handler the heads up that something promising was in the distance. Four other officers noticed this and as the animal plunged into a gallop through the trees, whimpering and yelping, Alex pushed herself into a full on sprint.

There it is! The place they are being held! Alex thought as they approached a small, decrepit brick building. It had no windows. It was a bunker as Sherlock had deduced.

"Police! Is there anyone in here?" One of the officers cried as they broke down the flimsy plastic door to the bunker. Alex couldn't see into the place as the officer had blocked the view. He had stopped. Still as a statue. Faintly, Alex could hear the words "good God" escape his lips. Oh, no! Oh God no! She thought. They weren't dead? Please, no.

The man rushed forwards and Alex could now see into the small room. She really didn't want to. Her heart was doing somersaults and her stomach wanted to dry heave. Resisting these feelings, she peered into the dark room. She could hardly see anything. Just hear a voice. It was the male officer who had broken the door down. Trying to drown out the sound of her own voice in her head, Alex found she could faintly distinguish what was being said.

"It's alright, you're going to be alright. There are officers here to look after you all, don't worry."

With those words, Alex instantly felt a long breath leave her body, relaxing her immediately. She moved to a further away spot to call her two friends. After the brief calls, the Collinsons emerged. All three of them were covered in mud and had cuts on their wrists where they had been tightly bound. Their poor faces showed great expressions of shock and relief. They'd been through a terrifying experience but they had more to come. They had to live with their experience and recount it to the authorities.

Alex wanted to reach out for them, make them understand that they were not in any danger anymore. But as they all turned on their heels to walk away, a bleeping noise penetrated the softer sounds of the forest and the thuds of feet. It was a warning, coming from the bunker.

"Quickly! Run!" As soon as the first syllable was shouted by the same male officer, all of them had turned their heels to escape as soon as possible. The Collinsons also realised that their lives were still in danger, and awaking from their terrifying ordeal, they flung off their blankets and took several strides through the woods. It was as if the whole scene was happening in slow motion.

Moving to dodge a tree that seemed to come out of nowhere, the most deafening blast took over the whole area, creating a force that elevated Alex's feet from the floor. Airborne, her arms instinctively crossed over her form to shield herself from the inevitable crash to the ground. Her knees bent, trying to force her body into the foetal position. She protested as best she could, making an attempt to move her hands to break her fall. But it was no use. This was all that Alex would remember before she would wake again.

Like coming to from a very, very deep sleep, Alex's eyes flickered a little until they were open enough to see where she was. She was prone, surrounded by white walls, lights, the feel of a mattress beneath her and sheets over her. There were flowers to her left, although she could only see a few of them. Moving her neck hurt. Really hurt. What had happened? Trying to speak, she felt a hand cover her own, and the owner speak to her.

"Alex, darling, it's alright, you're in hospital. Don't try and move or speak if it's painful."

The fingers rubbed along her hand, although she could hardly feel it. Both her hands were bandaged thickly. Gazing upwards, she saw the soft eyes and caring face of John Watson. Alex tried to speak again, but John made a shushing sound to stop her. There was nothing wrong with her throat or mouth. Why wasn't she allowed to speak? Her stubbornness took over – to hell with what John Watson thought, wonderful man though he was.

"Wh-What ha-happened?" She asked, realising that certain parts of her face stung. Cuts, no doubt. This was why John was trying to discourage her from speaking, but he was now aware that it wasn't too difficult to enunciate.

"What do you remember?" John asked, holding her hand tighter. Struggling to go through the images in her head, she recounted what happened until the time that she couldn't remember. Just a bang, being thrust off her feet and… Nothing.

"The bunker had a bomb in it. This was so no evidence that could be found. Sherlock's working hard to locate the people who did this. The interview with Marcus didn't throw up any leads, I'm afraid."

"How are the Collinsons?" Alex asked, trying again to move but the sharp pain put her head right back in the same position.

"They're fine." John reached forward and stroked Alex's forehead soothingly, avoiding the grazes.

"You've got a few cuts, but they'll heal. It's remarkable you haven't broken any bones. Just soft tissue injuries. The x-rays show there is no serious or permanent damage."

No serious or permanent damage? Then why…

"What am I doing in a private room?" She enquired, rolling her eyes about and noticing that John wasn't the only person in the room. Although John had said that Sherlock was looking for the kidnappers, there he was in the same space. Who was the other? Tall, dark, with a receding hairline and umbrella in hand. Mycroft Holmes. Not wearing the frown he often did. Actually smiling! Smiling kindly at Alex. What were they all doing there? Alex returned to her previous query – what was she doing there? A private room. She didn't have private medical insurance. She should be on an NHS ward. How did she get here?

"Err…" John shot a look to Sherlock who looked at Alex – almost apologetically. Could they afford a private room? No, someone had to pull strings for this. It was a nice place, curtains and netting as well as a dresser in the corner. One thing keeping it from being private was the window in the door. This was of course for medical staff to supervise. There would only be one reason for Mr Holmes the older being in the room.

"You got me here? Why?" Alex looked at the man. She was genuinely touched by what he had done, but was curious as to why.

Alex flicked her eyes between Sherlock and Mycroft. The former seemed bored and might have been pissed off that he had not found the family. It had been Alex who had suggested Rainham and she had been right. Sherlock's first choice was Epping Forest. His first hunch was wrong.

Feeling the irresistible compulsion in her head to smile, she complied with it and let out a giggle.

"Oh my God!" She sighed to herself, placing her free hand to her forehead. Another small giggle came.

"What?" The consulting detective actually looked confused. His brother followed suit. John just raised one eyebrow.

Alex had finally realised the truth about both the Holmes' men. Underneath their masks, their armour and fortresses, there were two very caring men. The masks had cracks in them and every so often, the real person would shine through. It would be only a bit, just a little bit. One could never look inside the walls of the fortress. The men would decide when to show themselves. Sometimes inadvertently. They're hearts were situated in the right places in their castles, however, encased in tough glass and had guards to protect them and to protect the men from their own hearts. It was obvious.

"What is it?" Sherlock repeated, leaning in closer to Alex.

"You two. You're so transparent!" Mycroft and Sherlock exchanged glances.

"Hmm, that's the sort of thing that the Holmes' brothers would say, Alex." John said, seeming to be impressed that she had managed to confuse them.

"Transparent?" Mycroft interjected. Alex turned to him, finding she could only do so with her eyes, and realising the one thing she had omitted to say.

"Don't think I'm ungrateful for this, because I am, believe me. Thank you, thank you very much. You just didn't have to, that's all."

"What do you mean we're 'so transparent'?" Sherlock looked almost offended. Mycroft just appeared to be curious.

"Nothing…" Alex returned.

"No, what?" Sherlock asked again.

"I've been called many a thing in my lifetime Alex, but 'transparent' has not been one of them." Mycroft added.

"Really! It's nothing. Please don't ask me again, my head hurts."

The point was taken, but the question unanswered. Mycroft, being the tolerant and patient man he was said his goodbyes and departed, leaving Alex with Sherlock and John.

"Any luck on the kidnappers?" Alex asked Sherlock.

"The police are tracing the loan sharks. But they all check out. I've yet to look at the evidence for myself, so that's the next step."

"Then why aren't you doing that now?" Alex had actually answered her own question earlier on.

"Oh, just, err… You know. Wanted to ask you first about what you saw, you know, just to see if there were any clues in what you experienced…" He smiled cheekily, trying to put emphasis on his statement about him being there for the case only. Alex saw through it like glass.

"Just as I said, Mr Holmes. Transparent."

Three days and nights later, Alex was fit enough to walk unaided and the pain was becoming manageable. John had turned up to take her home. Although the hospital food was lovely enough, given that it was private and paid for, she was longing for something naughtier.

"Here." John said to Alex as soon as they departed the hospital. He handed her a brown paper bag with a red symbol on it. Just from the smell and the heat, Alex knew that he had very generously bought her a McDonald's breakfast. Bought one for himself too and had hid them in his holdall. They sat on a bench near the entrance to the hospital scoffing their food. Alex finished hers much quicker than John. She still felt her stomach rumbling afterwards. Knowing that this was the general after effect of junk food, she tried hard to resist as John bolted down the last bit of his hash brown. But she had just come out of hospital, so why not stock up?

"Fancy another?" Alex asked, fishing out her wallet. She figured she owed John Watson for all the kind things he did for her.

"Erm, no, thanks."

"Go on! You can't be completely full on that! I'll get us a cup of tea, or anything you want. My treat!" John didn't take long to consider his answer.

Taking a short trip to the nearest McDonald's, they indulged their cravings more, and John had opted for another breakfast he had that morning. With a paper cup of tea. Alex had a sweet tooth after the savoury breakfast and chose pancakes with plenty of syrup.

"Where's Sherlock this morning?" She asked.

"Still with the police. They think they have a lead. Not sure, though. This is a tough one."

"We should be helping him…" Alex said.

"No, Alex. This is a bit more risky. I've assisted him as much as possible. Sherlock has no fear, so he can focus a lot better than most, so he's the best person to solve it."

"I'm not a meek, fragile little girl, you know? That bomb could have hurt anyone, even Sherlock if he had been there. And you."

"I know," John reassured her, "but that's not the point. This is Sherlock's job. He was born to do this job and I was a soldier. You're great, Alex, I think you're fantastic and you've shown that you can do this too but it all comes down to experience. I'm older than Sherlock and I think I'm probably more worldly wise, but he specialises in this. Even today I'm sitting this one out…" John told her before Alex interrupted.

"To get me from the hospital?"

"Yes, and no. I knew it was best that Sherlock did this on his own. He has the Met behind him doing all the background checks. He did ask about you, you know?"

"Really, what did he say?" Alex was eager to find out, but what John was telling her only confirmed her view of transparency.

"He asked how you were getting on and when I told him you were getting on fine and going to be back today, I caught the slightest glimpse of a grin before he turned around to abruptly walk out of the flat! I think he was trying to cover up that he was glad you were fine and coming home."

Alex smiled as she sipped her tea. Typical of the man to hide how he felt about things.

"Like I said. He's like glass. Can see straight through it."

"Yeah, what _did_ you mean by that?" John folded his arms on the table and leaned forward, grinning from ear to ear. Alex was more than happy to spill now that the brothers weren't listening.

"Those two men come across as being cold, heartless, emotionless machines – no offence – but it's just a mask. Sherlock's neither a psycho nor sociopath. Nor Mycroft. They've obviously developed masks, shields and everything else that acts as a buffer against the world, so they're untouchable. They are both skilled in the art and science of deduction but Sherlock has more drive and discipline than Mycroft. Something to do with their upbringing. I've seen you and Sherlock together and truth be told, I've never seen a closer bonded friendship than the two of you. Never had one like that myself. He really cares for you, Mrs Hudson and me. I even think he would call Lestrade a friend. He seems to actually respect him when he treats the rest of the members of the force with such animosity."

John interlocked his fingers and placed his elbows on the table, intrigued by what he was hearing.

"Sherlock wouldn't be doing this job if he didn't care. If he really didn't, and got bored like he always does, he wouldn't be solving crimes and saving lives, he would be out there doing them. I think his mentality is just that he doesn't get emotionally involved. Like professional distance. If he let sentiment get in the way, he'd never be able to focus. He has to channel all his efforts to crack the codes and find the common denominators, so his approach is to not feel anything – get out there and do something." Alex had finally finished. It was as if she had wanted to say this for some time.

"I think you're right. He _does_ care. So does Mycroft, he shows it all the time with Sherlock. I do like seeing this side to Sherlock. It's rare, so it makes it all the more special." Alex thought it was time for a rather cheesy moment.

"Cheers." She said, holding up her paper cup, rather surreptitiously as not to attract attention.

"What to?" John said, making the same subtle gesture.

"To Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes." Their cups touched.

"And to you and me for putting up with them!" John added.

"Yep, to you and me. Also to Mrs Hudson, Molly and Lestrade for having the patience of saints." Alex exclaimed.

"Oh definitely."

They giggled at how silly it was. But Alex had just come out of hospital and was rather happy about it, so John allowed her this indulgence.


	12. Rising Tension

**After that very long case, it is time for a different story…**

Two weeks later, and Alex was completely well and healed. It had taken some injuries to see into the cold exterior of Sherlock Holmes but she was glad she did. It was nice to witness a different side to him. Sociopath, my arse, she had thought when she realised in the hospital that her friend was human underneath it all.

There was absolutely no way she could fault John Watson. The man was amazing to say the least. Caring, though not over the top, he could really make someone feel better without being mollycoddled. Alex often wondered if it was just John, or Doctor Watson's bedside manner. However, she thought that buying him a second breakfast wasn't a big enough gesture of thanks for his friendship. John was faultless in his selfless attitude. He never expected anything in return from Sherlock for his many efforts to demonstrate that he valued his best friend's life above his own. Although never said, it was clear that these two guys genuinely loved one another. They'd only known each other eight months but they would remain friends for life.

Alex never voiced this to anyone, not during her long chats over tea with Mrs Hudson, or hour long conversations with her mother but she was feeling rather lonely. Yes, she had friends. Good friends. However, it was not the same as having that one person in her life. She had thought she had found it in the woman who left her ten months before. Her heart still ached for her and still bore the deep wound of the pain. Alex was sure she would never completely heal, or at least, her heart would be scarred for life.

Over the weeks when she had first moved to London, Alex had introduced herself to the local gay community and had a number of acquaintances, but made no actual friends. Two weeks after the bomb incident, she had ventured out again. This time, for a meal with John. Sherlock had intervened when they were deciding where to go and suggested Angelo's. Sherlock had helped the owner by proving he was elsewhere at the time a triple murder was committed. Although he was elsewhere breaking the law, this meant that he went down for housebreaking, not life for the murder of three people. Angelo held Sherlock in such high esteem since, and allowed him, and any people with him, to eat free of charge.

Angelo recognised John as soon as he had entered. The man was about fifty with a scruffy beard and long greying hair. He greeted them warmly and informed them that they could have anything they wanted free, courtesy of Sherlock Holmes.

"But I wanted to treat you!" Alex said as Angelo went away after giving them both menus and taking their drink orders. "I didn't think they'd let us eat here free, just if we were with Sherlock." She added.

"I thought that too, but hey, a free meal is good. Plus, you don't have to treat me, I've not done anything special." He looked confoundedly at her.

"Not done anything special? John Watson, you _are_ special! You're incredible. You were so friendly when we met, you were great when I was ill and in the hospital, as well as buying me a McDonald's the day I left. I know I bought another for you, but I really do feel I owe you."

"You owe me for nothing, don't be silly. Might as well take advantage of this lovely free food." Alex looked back at the menu. They were quick in their choices and decided on a full three course meal. Italian was really Alex's favourite food. Nothing could beat pizza or pasta.

"How many times have you been here?" Alex asked as her garlic mushrooms were served.

"Three. The first time was during the 'Study In Pink' case, which was actually about 24 hours after Sherlock and I first met, funnily enough. Been here before twice since, but not for cases. That first night, Angelo actually thought that I was Sherlock's date, can you believe!?"

Alex giggled as John said this, thinking for a moment that she could actually believe it.

"What did you do about that?"

"I just said I wasn't his date, twice. But I don't think he believed me. Either that or he didn't hear me. Put him straight the second time we came here. Sherlock, though, didn't deny it. The git."

"Did you know then, after 24 hours, that you and Sherlock would become such good friends?" Alex asked.

"Erm, I can't really answer that. I mean, knew that we would become friends but it took for the rest of that evening to pan out before I was sure." John seemed to lose his train of thought. The conversation was veering towards Sherlock and their close, yet slightly dysfunctional, relationship. He gazed at her as she raised her eyebrows, querying why. He could trust her, surely.

"Alex, um… there's something I want to tell you. Can I trust that you will understand?"

"What is it? You can trust me." She leaned closer. John looked for the first time that evening as if he was under pressure. He, too, leaned in. Moving his head to his right, Alex did the same. His cheek touching the soft curls of her hair. He whispered softly.

"It was me who shot the cabbie." Alex's mouth fell open. The thought had not really occurred to her about who it was. But now that John had confessed it made perfect sense, having read the blog several times.

"Oh my God!" She exclaimed in partial whisper.

"I had to, I had to save his life. He would have swallowed the pill otherwise and could have died." John was rather emotional at this point. "He knew it was me as he was deducing the characteristics of the shooter afterwards. He was speaking to Lestrade at the time but rather cleverly made out it was shock talking and he had deduced wrong. He covered for me and we went for a Chinese."

Reflecting on his first outing with the consulting detective, John was showing in his face the real affection he had for Sherlock. Alex felt warm in the heart. She didn't care what he had done. He had saved Sherlock's life and many others, no doubt.

"Sounds like a love story!" She said.

"Except it's not. Everyone either assumes or wants to believe we're a couple, but we're not."

"You two bicker like an old married couple! Like you've been married for a decade." Alex said. John laughed and finished his starter.

The evening went smoothly without any hitches. The food was wonderful. They talked about Alex's next book, John's days as a medical student and how it felt when Moriarty kidnapped John to use him as a hostage. Moriarty had known Sherlock's weakness by then. He knew that to stir up Sherlock's emotions and make him believe that he would go after John again if he kept interfering in Moriarty's schemes. It would be John who suffers. Alex became nervous. What about her and Mrs Hudson? Where they safe? John and Sherlock may not be so lucky next time.

Heaving themselves off their seats, stomachs full of Italian food, Alex spotted two familiar faces waltz in. Anderson and Donovan.

"Oh. Hello. Fancy seeing you here." The latter said sarcastically as they were shown to the same seats that John and Alex had occupied. They were first two seats available because the place was so popular. The two women glared at each other as they walked past one another.

"I thought you were a lesbian, Alex." Donovan had _really_ got Alex's back up. A couple of people looked, but Alex was out and proud and didn't give a shit.

"John and I are friends, Sally. Just like Sherlock and I are. Anyway, I hardly see what business it is of yours what we are doing here."

"Ladies, please, let's not do this. Alex let's go." John put his hand on Alex's waist to nudge her in the door. Alex kept her eyes trained on the sergeant, who smirked annoyingly at her. It was best to walk away. Not wishing to cause a scene, Alex calmed straight down and walked out with John, her head held high.

Once outside, it started to rain slightly. They decided to go to the nearest pub and whilst John enjoyed the odd pint and shot, Alex was teetotal and John felt that he would try it for once. He was a doctor and had seen the effects of alcohol in the emergency rooms and in patients with liver disease, so he was quite happy to abstain from a single drink that evening. Even at Angelo's, he'd stuck to diet coke.

They left the pub at half past eleven, just as many loud and extremely drunk men stumbled their way out. Deciding to walk rather than take a cab, it wasn't long before they were stopped in their tracks.

"Oh, so here they are. The happy couple. Should tell Sherlock you're cheating on him, Watson." Donovan was obviously plastered and leaned dependently on Anderson, who seemed inebriated but coherent.

"Shut it!" Alex shouted. She had experienced enough of this woman's attitude.

"No! I won't, I think I should tell him…"

"Just give it a rest, Donovan. And you can stop giggling too, Anderson!" John warned them.

Donovan let out an 'ooooh' sound and she staggered down the road laughing and whispering about Sherlock and John to Anderson, who revelled in his girlfriend's spitefulness.

"That woman really needs to be put in her place." Alex said as they strolled back to 221b Baker Street. Alex was never going to let Donovan ridicule her friends again.

One week later and Alex had decided to help Mrs Hudson look after the house after she came down with a cold. Alex was given the riveting task of thoroughly vacuuming the lobby and steps and had to go all the way up to the top floor where John's room was. John had popped out to meet up with his sister for a few hours. Sherlock had decided to test the difference in the fingertips of identical twins. Using actual fingers from twins! He had sweet talked his way into obtaining them from Molly Hooper. The twins had died in a car crash. Sherlock had made some strange remark about it being good that their hands weren't damaged!

It wasn't until she heard a very loud "Excuse me!" behind her when she noticed that Lestrade and Donovan had entered the building. Lestrade had been given a key some time ago by Sherlock but was good enough not to abuse it, or allow others to.

Alex grudgingly allowed Donovan to pass and exchanged a friendly nod with Lestrade. She heard them interrupt Sherlock's focused mind, yet the consulting detective was elated to be given a new case.

"House broken into last night. This bloke was stabbed to death as he slept." Alex heard Lestrade say and the sound of thick paper being taken out of a folder and passed from one hand to the other.

"Might not even need to see the crime scene. Bet you can find out who did it from the photographs." Donovan said, folding her arms, expecting a retort from Sherlock. The latter ignored her and skimmed though the images. Alex had turned off the hoover and was deliberately taking her time winding it up. She didn't bother with the stairs up to John's room. It was only him who went up and down them and they weren't that bad.

It was the three people in the room whom she cared about. She would have happily left Sherlock and Lestrade on their own in the flat. The two men got on well, but Donovan? She was poison.

As if reading her mind, Donovan turned and saw that Alex's eyes were boring into her. Shifting slightly on her feet as Lestrade and Sherlock chatted, her mouth contorted, the upper lip raising lightly, the nose wrinkled in a look of what Alex could only interpret as an expression of disgust, intended to aggravate the recipient. A tiny sound that seemed like a 'tut' came from Donovan's lips as she revolved her head to face the detective, who's eyes had flitted slightly to witness the sergeant's contemptuous gesture. Moving his eyes to Alex, he silently told her to leave and Alex obeyed.

Later that evening, Sherlock had met up with John. Together, they had successfully cracked the case. Alex had spent the afternoon helping Mrs Hudson and was in Sherlock and John's flat once again mercilessly scrubbing the kitchen spotless. She was sure to leave the remains of the experiment where they were (in the fridge) and was grateful when the boys returned home. She knew that Sherlock wouldn't even notice how clean the place was, even though John would appreciate it.

"Alex, I would have done it." He said as soon as he saw her in the kitchen putting the cups away.

"I'm sure you would have, John, but you were busy and, with all due respect, I think the mess in this place needed a woman's touch." John didn't know whether to say something to that or laugh. He ultimately resolved to saying nothing at all, just giving a 'thank you' nod and going to get the cups out of the cupboard, that Alex had placed in there, to make two cups of tea. Looking at Alex as he held them in his hand, he then went to get a third.

"Oh, not one for me, too?" Lestrade chimed as he strolled in, handing a wedge of paper to Sherlock.

"Oh, sure." John said, seeming to have forgotten that the DI was coming in too.

Donovan followed shortly behind him, looked at John and about to speak but stopped when she noticed Alex standing beside him.

"Woman's touch? Yeah, can see that. You may want to think about doing this for a living, Alex." Donovan taunted. Dumping her rubber gloved on the counter, Alex slowly approached the woman, keeping eye contact. Lestrade had attempted unsuccessfully to dissuade the sergeant from making such a comment. John had also joined in, but Sherlock remained nonchalant, ignoring Donovan as he always did.

"You wanna say that again, Donovan?" Alex asked. Her enemy turned so she they were facing each other square on.

"Ladies, enough. Please. Sherlock, could you get those papers to me first thing in the morning?"

"They'll be there before first thing in the morning, Lestrade."

Alex and Donovan were still glaring at each other, only a foot apart.

"Really need to watch your mouth, _Sergeant _Donovan. Could get you in trouble."

"Hmm. Amazing that with the mouth the Freak has on him he hasn't yet got himself in trouble. He will one day." She was pushing her luck.

"Don't call him that!" Alex rushed to defend Sherlock.

"I just did." Donovan leaned into Alex's space, emphasising her words. Sherlock had gotten up from his seat and approached them. He lightly put his hand on Alex's shoulder.

"It's alright, Alex. It doesn't bother me. Ignore her."

"Yeah, but it bothers _me_. I think you should leave." Alex told Donovan. It wasn't a request. John had stayed back, but was ready in case the situation turned for the worst. The three men came closer to the women. Lestrade grabbed Donovan by her elbow.

"Sally, go wait in the car, please."

"What, while you have a cuppa and stay up here for God knows how long?"

"Just do it, Sally!" It was an order, one she had to comply while on the job. There was one last thing to do before Donovan vacated the room. She approached the door to the top of the stairs.

"Call him a Freak ONE MORE TIME…" Alex warned. Lestrade held his hand up mid-air to tell her to calm down. She felt Sherlock behind her turn around and throw his hands up to slap them on his thighs, probably rolling his eyes too.

"And you'll what?" The girl was asking for a smack. Alex broke away from the grip that John Watson had placed on her arm and the invisible shield held up by Lestrade. She made sure that the line between their eyes didn't grow slack at any point.

"You know what. He's my friend. Anyone who messes with my friends, messes with me. If you don't like Sherlock, fine. Just keep it to yourself. I mean it." They continued to stare at one another for a several seconds. Alex felt one of the men approach her. Given the height of the presence, she knew it was John.

"Leave it you two. Alex, drink your tea and calm down, please."

The anger inside Alex was something she hadn't felt in a long time. The last time was when her uncle humiliated her in front of her family. This was the last straw in a long line of insults since she was a child. She had experienced anger since, but not to the point that she wanted to actually be the one to teach someone a lesson. Alex thought better of it, though. Donovan was a police officer and Alex was not stupid enough to even think about using violence to get her point across. If Donovan made the first move, she could claim self-defence. But there was no way Alex was going to deliberately work Donovan into such a state that she would lash out. It was stupid. It was best if the two women kept out of one another's way, but would Donovan be civil with Sherlock? Surely Lestrade should intervene.

"Can you not do anything about this? Isn't it discrimination?" Alex asked Lestrade. "You're her superior, do something."

"It's alright, Alex. Leave it." Sherlock took her gently by the shoulders and turned her so she faced him, his nose only three inches from hers.

"Sherlock isn't bothered by it and she hasn't gone any further than calling him a Freak, which of course he isn't, so we both just let it slide. Sherlock's usually quite rude to her, too, so it's six on one, half a dozen on the other." Lestrade answered.

"So you should let it slide also, Alex. She isn't worth your energy." Sherlock said, taking his hands back and straightening up, throwing a look to Lestrade as he had commented that Sherlock had been also rude.

"I won't let it slide if she keeps doing it. And even so, Sherlock will tell you, Lestrade, that even at our first meeting she was rude and patronising towards me, when she didn't even know me. One of these days, that big mouth and big ideas of hers will get her into trouble and someone will have to teach her a lesson."

Alex had exhausted her emotions that evening and settled for watching back to back soaps for the remainder of it. She got bored and had a play on her Wii, using the remote and nunchuck for boxing. She won against the Wii every time. It was easy. All she had to do was picture Donovan's punch-worthy grin and it was the perfect spur.

Dumping the remote and nunchuck in the drawer afterwards and turning on the telly to watch Family Guy, she began to resent herself for these thoughts of wanting to deliver justice. Violence was certainly not in her nature and she tried to shake the tension surging through her veins. Hearing her phone bleep in her jacket pocket, she went to retrieve it. She didn't recognise the number, but she knew who it was.

_If you want to settle this, meet me at Baker Street tube station in half an hour. _

Alex shook slightly as she realised what this meant. Donovan wanted to meet her to settle their differences, which could turn into something that she really didn't want to happen. But it was an offer she couldn't refuse. Alex changed into her outdoor clothes and felt a rush of adrenaline rush through her as she stepped outside into the dark street, preparing to confront her nemesis.

**Alex vs Donovan is coming soon…**


	13. Alex vs Donovan

**Hello my lovelies! This was so nail biting to write! I've had to increase the rating because of the fighting. Alex and Donovan go toe-to-toe, enjoy! **

**FYI, I don't know if Scotland Yard has a gym, or whereabouts it is, but it just fitted so well with the story.**

The air was rather warm but Alex was trembling. Not from fear or nervousness. From anticipation and almost excitement. She kicked herself for feeling this way – it went against every part of her being. Alex liked to think she was a peace-loving, kind-hearted woman who would never stoop to violence.

The entrance to Baker Street Station was very exposed and Donovan would never chose to meet someone outside, where eyes could see and ears could hear. She went into the station, and looked about her. Nothing. Her phone sounded.

_Buy a zone one ticket._

Alex really didn't want to be told what to do, especially by Donovan. However, it was the only way to meet her. To end this.

Alex bought a ticket at the lowest price she could. She was willing to do this in order to go deeper into the station, but she would not be riding the tube. It was almost dead, only the occasional people around. She could swear that some of the groups of people were in gangs, so she decided to keep moving and not utter a word. She went down the escalator and made her way to one of the platforms. Looking about her, she spotted a figure at the far end. The slim form of Donovan. Alex didn't move, just stared. They both waited until the train that was waiting on the platform had departed with the last passenger.

"How did you get my number?" Alex asked.

"That's not important."

Alex admitted to herself that it wasn't. Lestrade was actually the only person whom she could have got the number from. She either sweetly asked for it, probably feigning an apology, or got it when he wasn't looking.

"What do you want?" Alex returned.

"Just wanted to have a proper chat."

"About what? Nothing to talk about."

"Oh, but there is." Donovan was two metres away from Alex by now. "Why do you and John stick to Sherlock Holmes like glue?"

"That's none of your business." Alex answered. There was no need to repeat the fact that they were, genuinely, all friends.

"He's quite hypnotic isn't he? Quite the charmer. That's the thing about psychopaths. They are charming people who appear to care. Sherlock Holmes only cares about himself."

There she was, going on about Sherlock. Alex had said enough about him.

"Actually, Donovan. This isn't about Sherlock, not anymore. This is about you being a bitch!"

They didn't move for a moment. Each held their own, not wanting to move or back down.

"You wanna say that again? To my face?" Donovan was mocking before, but now she was really not happy. They were just inches away from one another.

"I did just, but I'll do it again. This is not about Sherlock, this is about you being a bitch!"

Their eyes never shifted. Alex had never taken self-defence classes but her mother always taught her to never let her eyes leave her enemy's. No matter what. Donovan was two inches taller than Alex. But this was not the issue. It was strange that when all she could see what brown spheres, her other senses were heightened. She could feel everything. The breeze from the tunnel, the venom oozing from Donovan's pores, the space around her, where the seats and walls were, the edge of the platform. It was like she had feelers, noticing the shift in the atmosphere. It shifted suddenly. Donovan's body leaned to the side as it did. Alex didn't even need to think about what to do. Her arm instinctively moved up, her muscles tensed and her hand balled into a fist. She blocked Donovan's attempt at a punch in the face with her left arm, before throwing her open palmed right hand to the other woman's shoulder.

"I wouldn't! There's CCTV around. You don't want to lose your job for assaulting a civilian, would you, Donovan?" This had the effect Alex was hoping for and Donovan retreated, taking two steps back and bringing her arms back to her sides but clearly wishing she had been successful in her aim.

"You wanna settle this matter, Donovan? I suggest you go home and keep a civil tongue in future. I don't want any trouble and I'm sure you don't either."

"It's gone too far for that. Until that man is behind bars I won't rest."

"Behind bars for what?! He's done nothing wrong!" Alex shouted so hard it echoed up and down the tunnels at both ends of the station.

"Believe me, one day he will. He'll get so bored he won't be able to resist going one step too far."

"You're wrong, Donovan. Sherlock helps people, he saves lives. He wouldn't be doing this job if he didn't care." Alex threw back at Donovan.

"He's a psychopath and he will show it one day. Mark my words."

"I'm not marking anything. I'm going. You're not worth my energy, just like Sherlock said."

Alex turned around and walked through the archway leading to the nearest flight of stairs. She jogged up them quickly and into the nearest corridor, wanting to be as far away from Sally Donovan as possible.

"You think you're so hard, don't you?" Alex stopped as she heard the voice several feet behind her. Donovan just couldn't let it go.

"That's rich coming from you!" Alex called back.

"Yeah, well if you think you've got it all, let's do it, eh?"

"Let's do what? I've done what you wanted, I've come here, it's over, I'm going home." Alex turned once again to exit the station.

"What? Are you scared." It was like a sting. It stopped Alex immediately.

"Scared? You think I'm scared? Of you? Don't make me laugh."

"Then let's see what you're made tomorrow in the gym at the Yard. Ten at night, that's when the gym shuts." Donovan was egging her on.

"You know, one of the best ways to win a fight is to walk away. So that's what I'm doing, Donovan, walking away. Watch me." She was almost at the bottom of the escalator now, about to step on when a tight grip at her elbow, sending nervous pain to her fingertips, caused her to spin around so fast the station became a blur.

"You're chickening out. Scared, just as I thought. Going to go home to tell that _Freak_ what's being going on? No point, he won't care. He _is_ a Freak and he'll _always_ be a Freak."

For the second time that evening, they shot venom into one another's eyes. Donovan was itching for a fight and almost everything in Alex's being was telling her not to. It wasn't the answer, but she would never stop trying to find a way to bring Sherlock down. Alex pondered for a second, her heart growing stronger.

"Fine. Tomorrow at ten at the Yard. I win, you _never_ call Sherlock Holmes a Freak _ever again_ and you _never_ say a bad word about him. You keep a civil tongue in his presence and when talking about him. Agreed?"

"Agreed. I win, I'm not holding back. Never."

"Fine." Alex repeated. With that, she turned on her heels and left the station, leaving Donovan behind her.

_Two and a half hours earlier_

It was just past midnight when Alex stepped out of the cab, holding the door carefully as she disembarked.

"You sure you don't need to go to a hospital, love?" The cabbie asked. He gave her his hand to help her up the curb and to the door of 221b.

"No, I'm fine, thanks." Alex paid the cabbie, who took the money, but was still concerned for the young woman.

Before Alex could find her key, the door to 221b burst open, the form of John Watson appeared, open-mouthed and in a seeming state of shock.

"Alex, what the hell happened?!" He rushed forward, putting an arm around her shoulders and guiding her in.

"You've been assaulted! Who was it? Are you ok?"

"John, I'm fine, really. I haven't been assaulted." She assured him, not accepting his sympathy.

"Not been assaulted?! Look at you, you've got cuts and bruises on your face! Probably on your body, too." He shouted, loud enough for Sherlock to break away from whatever he was doing to witness what was happening. He stopped at the top of the first flight of stairs.

"John, I appreciate your concern, but it's really nothing to worry about." She started to make her way to her flat.

"No, you are coming upstairs with me now and I'll see to those cuts. And then, you're going to tell me all about it."

_Two hours earlier_

Scotland Yard at night looked strange. It was almost spooky. Alex didn't know where to go and just walked into reception. As she approached the doors, she heard her name called from the side of the building. A man of about 35, bald in a grey hoody and tracksuit bottoms flickered his finger at her, beckoning her to follow him. He disappeared round the corner and Alex followed. She was sure to wear black lycra trousers and a zip-up top, nothing too tight or restrictive. She hadn't told Mrs Hudson, John or Sherlock where she was going and what for. They would try and talk her out of it.

The gym was in the basement, at the bottom of the stairs and at the end of a corridor. Alex did feel a trifle nervous but more because there was an audience to this. Five men were in the middle of a large room, with mirrors at one end and weights at the other.

"They're here to witness."

"Why?" Alex asked.

"God, are you really that thick? So you can't press charges on me when you lose!"

"And so you can't press charges on me for assaulting a police officer." Alex added, trying hard not to react to Donovan's taunting. Alex shook her hands out and breathed out slowly, relaxing her body. The five men, none of which included Anderson wherever he was, dotted around as if to occupy invisible posts. The florescent lights flooded the area illuminating everything in sight, almost dazzling. Alex was surprised that she had not once thought, nor wanted, to back out of this. It _had_ to happen. If she lost, Alex would still not let it go. She wouldn't stand for someone ridiculing her friend.

One of the men, dressed in an all-black tracksuit, moved to the centre of the room, beckoning for the women to approach one another. They did so slowly. Alex detected a hint of fear in Donovan's eyes. It gave her a spur. Neither of them looked at the man. They secretly wished he wasn't there.

"Right, no using any of the gym equipment, no going near the mirrors. If that happens, the boys will move you both away. No damaging any of the facilities, either." He moved back and, finally, Alex and Donovan were on their own. They just stared, getting closer. Alex made sure her eyes didn't leave her target. It was as if her body had extended its senses and felt the air around it again. But before she realised that this was happening, without any kind of warning, Donovan's right arm surged forward without any backward leverage, thrusting her fist into Alex's abdomen. Alex bent over in pain and winced. It was shocking and excruciating. As she doubled, a knee made contact with her face, creating a sudden pain through her nose and face. Her eyes watered uncontrollably and she felt warm liquid seep from her nose. Keeling over on her left, her side hit the blue mat of the studio with a thud. She could hear male voices making noises in reaction to the blows and their feet stepping backwards slightly. In amongst those sounds, she noticed the blood-curdling cackle coming from Sally Donovan.

Still on her side, clutching her middle and her face still contorted in pain, she tried to find the ground with her free hand in an effort to rise. She heard Donovan's footsteps come closer.

Opening her right eye, she had a good view of Donovan's feet, the right one extending back in preparation for a kick. It was like a movie being filmed at normal speed then slowed down at the crucial moment.

Alex saw it coming and removed her arms from her aching belly. It wasn't a comfortable feeling at all, but there was something more important to do. Donovan's leg was fully bent at the knee and was starting to straighten, the foot coming closer to the recipient of its force.

Turning slightly and moving her hands, at the right moment, Alex clasped her grip around the ball of the foot, pushing hard, stopping the hard toe of the trainer meeting her chest, the area of which it was intended to meet. As quick as Donovan had been with her kick, Alex moved her right hand to the calf muscle, pushing as hard as possible. It had the desired effect. Still only seeing her rival from below the knee, she saw the left leg wobble. It shook and a second later, lost its footing. Pushing harder and harder, the full weight of the woman was no longer planted to the ground and was tumbling to the floor.

Alex watched as the body not only fell to the floor, but rotated, arms and legs flailing all over the place. Donovan hit the ground with an even bigger thud than Alex had, face down, and didn't have time to break her fall. She bounced once and then settled with a cry and stayed there, long enough for Alex to gather her strength and rise. Once she had, Donovan's right arm and left leg had moved closer to her body, pushing her form off the ground.

"You're gonna be sorry for that…" She muttered through the pain that was obviously coursing through her mouth at that point. Alex noticed a small spot of blood colouring her teeth as Donovan got back on her feet, somewhat awkwardly. Beforehand, her face had displayed an almost victorious grin, but now, it was serious.

"Oh, I'll never be sorry! Never!" Alex's voice didn't sound as strong as she hoped, but she made a damn good effort.

Circling around one another, the men moving in the opposite direction, Donovan ran forward and plunged her shoulder into Alex's, sending them both to the floor with Donovan towering over Alex, pinning her to the ground. In one fast move, Donovan's fist collided with Alex's right cheekbone, causing Donovan to shake her hand free and make a sound to show that it hurt her too. Alex's brain blurred slightly before she saw her opportunity. Bringing her right knee up and skimming between Donovan's legs, she pushed it firming into Donovan's abdomen, causing the latter to cry out and lose her breath easily. Alex pushed harder and Donovan rose up enough for Alex to move out from under her. Kneeling up as Donovan remained in this position clutching her bruised middle, Alex was finally able to do what she wanted to.

She grabbed Donovan's frizzy black hair with her left, jerking her wrist to get her face into her peripheral vision. Alex tightened her right hand and threw her own fist against Donovan's cheek with all her might. This was more painful than Alex thought. The nerves in her knuckles felt the full force of the punch as well as Donovan's face. The sergeant fell onto the blue matt still whimpering. Alex really wanted to end this, to throw some more punches and have it over and done with. But it was too soon. They were equal at this point and there was no clear winner. It was a tie-break in the final of a tennis tournament. The players were neck-and-neck.

"Get up." Alex ordered Donovan, who seemed reluctant to obey although she knew she had no choice.

Once on their feet, Donovan was so angry she couldn't resist swinging her arm back. But she had completely underestimated Alex. Although not a fighter, and up against a trained police officer, she was certainly standing her ground and putting up a fight.

As she had done at Baker Street station, Alex skilfully blocked the punch, however, instead of holding Donovan back, she sent her own once again across Donovan's face. The same fist to the same spot as it had done before.

It wasn't as powerful as before. It didn't send her to the floor, but it was enough to make the woman's head fall to the side. The men round them were still making noises as if they felt every bit of pain as the fighting women.

"You bitch!" Donovan said as she felt her eye close and swell. Quicker than any move she had pulled before, a swing of her leg, the lower part of her shin slammed into Alex's left ribs, sending her to the floor. Her arm cushioned her fall, stopping her right ear making a painful collision with the floor. This time, she wasn't going to wallow in the agony.

"That's my line!" Alex quickly swivelled on the floor and her toe caught the exact spot behind Donovan's knee cap, causing her legs to buckle and her body to crumple to the ground. They had moved around so much that Donovan's head had just come off the matt, although not make contact with the rough blue carpet that covered the rest of the gym floor. One of the blokes strode over and rotated Donovan's body enough so she was away from the edge. None of the men were on either side. The guy had moved her only a minimal amount. Not one of them had called a name or made any attempt to side with either of them.

"You think you're so tough? Hmm?" Donovan walked awkwardly towards Alex, who held her guard up to cover her face. "You're deluded if you think…" Her sentence was cut short by an almighty high kick from Alex, clocking her right in the chin and sending her head backwards. Donovan's face was expressionless, blank. For the fourth time in the fight she was floored, vulnerable and weak. This was it, the chance to end this once and for all.

Wasting no time, Alex scrambled forward and straddled Donovan's waste, grabbing the lapels of her thin hoody in her left fist and striking her for the third time across the cheek. She struck a fourth time. Alex's fist, now all broken and bloody, made sure that the recipient of the strike would know that this was the final blow.

Donovan was unconscious, blood pouring from her nose and mouth. Alex made one last check to ensure that she was still breathing. She was. Alex stood up and saw the other woman squirm and regain consciousness.

"Do you want to continue this?" Alex asked threw swollen lips and a bleeding tongue. Her abs and sides hurt with every word, every breath. Donovan looked up at her, still struggling to keep her eyes open. Alex wasn't sure if she saw a nod coming from the sergeant, but it was undisputedly an expression that told the other party that enough was enough. No more. She could not take another blow. Alex had won.

"Remember the terms? Make sure you stick to them." Her final words to her nemesis.

Alex's legs trembled as she walked away. Four of the men came forward and helped Donovan to her feet. One had produced a mini first aid kit and started to mop up the blood on her face. They would have had to clean up the scene as well in time for opening in the morning.

The fifth man approached Alex, placing his hand on her shoulder, asking if she was ok. Stupid question, she thought. He too had a first aid kit and opened it but Alex didn't want to be looked after. She took it from him, thanked him, and departed in the direction of where she assumed the ladies' room would be.

After thirty seconds or so, she found it. It was rather large and reminded her of the changing rooms at secondary school.

It was then that she got a look in the mirror and noticed that her nose and left eye were swollen. She touched her nose tentatively. Alex had never broken a bone in her life, despite falling off horses, bikes and even dropping a ten kilo weight on her foot. Her mum had often said that it was because she was addicted to milk and cheese as a child. Thank God for the extra calcium, she thought as she observed her bruised face. It had come in handy. She tried to clean herself as much as possible and she began to look better. Alex leaned into the mirror and checked her pupils. They were even. Good.

After fifteen minutes, she heard light footsteps behind her. In the mirror's reflection, she saw the bloodied and bruised form of Sally Donovan.

"What do you want? It's over." Alex said, fumbling for a piece of cotton wool.

"Shouldn't we shake hands now? It's customary after a fight."

"That's for professional fighters. This was personal, Donovan, so no. I won't shake your hand." Alex was ready if Donovan wanted to have another go. Exhaustion wasn't far off. However, she was willing to defend herself if she had to.

"Fine, but don't think you're going to get any respect out of me." Donovan was about to leave, turning on her heels.

"I don't expect to get it, whether or not I shake your hand. You don't have my respect and you will never get it. But this feud is over, Donovan." She turned and faced Donovan, who had come back into the ladies' room. She had nothing more to say to Alex and once again left the room. Alex then remembered something.

"Oh, you might want to call in sick tomorrow. You may need some time off."

After finishing cleaning herself up, Alex left the building, taking her time to walk to the nearest taxi rank. One of the drivers spotted the condition she was in and got out quickly, running towards her.

"You alright, love? What happened to you?"

"It's nothing, it's fine, thank you. Please can you take me to 221b Baker Street?" She asked.

"No, love, you need to go to hospital and the police."

"No, seriously it's fine. Please can you take me to Baker Street?"

The cabbie agreed and took her to her destination.

_One hour later_

"So, that's what happened." Alex said. She had recounted everything. From the meeting at the station to Alex getting a cab back to Baker Street. John had been dabbing Alex's face with cotton wool and TCP, which stung like hell. He wasn't entirely convinced that Alex had done all she could with the wounds. His expression was less than impressed.

"You're a stupid girl! You know that?" Alex had never seen him looking so grave.

Sherlock was in his chair, facing the kitchen where Alex was with John. He had been listening to every word.

"I told you to leave it, Alex!" He said sternly, rising from his seat and approaching her. Alex didn't want to look at him.

"I know, but she…"

"But nothing! You should never have met up with her."

"Don't worry, she won't press charges, neither will I. Remember I said that someone really needed to teach her a lesson? I did tonight and I'm glad I did." Alex then turned to Sherlock, who looked a bit more sympathetic than before. He had placed his hand on her shoulder, mildly delivering some comfort.

"Donovan won't be calling you a Freak again."

**Thank you so much for reading. I know that this is the longest chapter since chapter one, but it needed it. One of the things I intended when I started this fic was to keep all the characters from the show as true as they could be, but I had to make Donovan much worse than she has been in the show to make the fight believable. Hope you liked this! Here's to the next chapters. There will be more, much more! X**


	14. The New Forest Part One

**After the fight, I felt it was time for something totally different. If you've never been to the New Forest for a camping holiday, go there. It's beautiful.**

"Well, as you can see from these figures, Alex, we are very impressed!" Her publisher explained as he flicked through his copy of the sales figures. Alex couldn't help beaming like a Cheshire cat. It was amazing! Her book had sold so many copies in the shops and online, she was already close to paying off her advance and earning royalties.

"God… I'm speechless!" She was so happy she wanted to run through the corridors of the big white buildings screaming. It was hard to contain her elation and excitement.

"It's doing so well, in fact, that we thought we'd reward you." He said, clasping his hands together and leaning towards her with a look that her mother would assume when she'd say "I've got a surprise for you!"

"Reward? How? You don't need to do that, I have an advance."

"Yes, but you put in so much work in the first month of publication. You left your job without serving notice and moved to London a week after the tour. You have real commitment and drive that hasn't gone unnoticed."

To say Alex was flattered was very much an understatement. Her face ached with grinning. She also felt the residue of the now faded bruises and cuts from the showdown with Donovan. She winced at the memory. She hated herself afterwards and the boys' harsh words were well deserved. John had been so kind, as per usual. Alex felt as if she had been such an inconvenience, a burden, that she had to get out of their hairs for a bit.

"We've decided to give you a holiday of your choice. All expenses paid, but with a budget of £5,000. You can go wherever you want, whenever you want and within the budget, you can take anyone with you that you wish."

It was a no-brainer. It was so obvious she couldn't contain her delight when she heard the list.

"Camping, I love camping! New Forest. I last went there when I was 11! They have feral horses and horse-riding schools! It'll be so good." Her publisher raised his hands, palms downwards, still smiling, gesturing for her to sit down and calm down.

"Alex, I know you're going to be on Cloud Nine for the rest of the day, and probably for a long time, but you need to get this holiday booked. Please speak with my secretary in that office over there and she will book it with you. New Forest? You sure you don't want to go to the Bahamas, Australia or America? Cyprus, or somewhere hot?"

"Absolutely no way." Alex answered. She hated traveling and going to places she was unfamiliar with. Visiting America was one of her dreams, however, she preferred to holiday in the UK. She wanted to get away very soon and camping in the New Forest, one of the most famous camping resorts in the UK was the most appealing.

It took an hour to book the holiday with the secretary. It was £5,000, which would easily give her two weeks with the best tent and facilities she could have. But she didn't want to be alone. She called her Mum, but she had just come out of hospital and would not be up for it. Mrs Hudson wouldn't dare leave Baker Street for a couple of weeks. Sherlock would _never_ go camping and John had been to New Zealand a couple of months before. They also had some cases on (John had blogged about Sherlock being baffled about something) and John had also met a woman he was getting to know. Sherlock had quite rudely referred to her as "the one with the spots". So what if it was true? Yes, the woman had quite bad acne and Sherlock's deductions weren't 'judgements' exactly, as the man could not be described as discriminatory at all, but pointing out her obvious flaw was rather embarrassing for her and John. The latter was _really_ not impressed.

Who could she ask? Aha! It clicked. Alex found the number on her BlackBerry of the person she wanted to take.

"Ha! Typical, gone to voicemail. I expect she's working." Alex said to the secretary as she listened to the voicemail greeting. It beeped and Alex began her message.

"Hi, Molly, it's Alex, hope you're ok. Please can you give me a call when you get this, have a rather exciting opportunity for you!"

Molly Hooper was by a mile the loveliest person Alex had ever met. So sweet and caring (and clever, even though Sherlock had somehow missed this attribute because he liked to think everyone is stupid) and the poor woman had no close family or many friends. She and Alex had become quite close over the weeks.

It was only five minutes when she got a call back. Alex had expected it to happen at the end of her shift at ten o clock that night. Molly would often keep her phone on her at work. She told Alex once that she would check it often to see if her ex, Jim, would call. But he never did.

"My publisher has said that I can have a holiday of my choice because of how my book sales are going and I wondered if you would like a fortnight off work and away from London for a bit?"

"Oh… Oh, ok, yeah! That sounds good! Where were you thinking?"

"Camping in the New Forest." Molly's heart sank. She was the one wishing she could visit a hot climate, somewhere exotic. But camping was always a favourite pastime of Alex's and camping abroad would be far too scary.

"Yeah. Don't you want to go for a couple of weeks? I know someone who can have Toby, who has facilities much better than a cattery and they'll be no charge. Come on! Camping's fun! We can still sunbathe." Alex had morphed into an excited little girl about to get her dream present at Christmas.

"Oh, ok. It'll be fun." Alex could tell that Molly was still dubious. Nonetheless, just like Alex, needed a break from it all.

After the dates were confirmed and Molly's boss had agreed for her to go away at short notice, by only the following week they were packing their things. Alex had selected the most elaborate tent she could find. A gas stove, kettle, sleeping bags and airbeds, lantern lamps. It was so exciting that this was all Alex could think about for the week. She had also taken several notebooks and pens so she could fill in a diary or write some poetry.

Molly had taken to buying several pairs of denim shorts and trousers, tank tops and trainers – stuff she'd never wear - and a vanity case full of toiletries. Alex's cousin, who lived in Lewisham, and was cat crazy, had agreed to look after Molly's cute, yet rather crazy, cat Toby. Molly had cried a little as they left him, but she was happy that Toby would be well looked after.

John had been keen to know where they were going and what they would be getting up to but, of course, Sherlock barely noticed and didn't care. He only seemed concerned that he would not be able to gain access to the lab and the mortuary as easily as he could when Molly was there. Alex expected no more or less from the detective. He didn't even notice when John had returned from New Zealand, according to John's blog. But, he had redeemed himself by buying John some beer shortly after John had pointed it out.

Alex didn't dare mention to either of the boys that she was keen to go on holiday not just to get out of the urban jungle for a bit and have some fresh air, but because she wanted to give them some space. John was so caring, and always had time for people, however, he had a life too. Between this and looking after Sherlock, the poor man hardly had time for himself. Sherlock lived in a little place called "The World According To Sherlock Holmes" most of the time, so Alex hardly impinged. Still, she was able to see through his façade and she knew that there was a 24 carat heart of gold underneath, even if the man was unaware of it himself.

Alex and Molly had taken so much stuff that they had to use a van to take them to the New Forest. Alex could drive, but hiring a van and having someone pick it up would be a nightmare. Neither of the women cared about this as it was simply taken from the holiday budget. It left Alex and Molly with over £1,000 spending money.

"I'm definitely going horse-riding." Alex said as they began to pitch the tent. Molly had ridden horses in her youth and was rather sceptical about going again twenty years down the line. Alex assured her so much that it was 'just like riding a bike' and eventually, Molly conceded and agreed to ride during the holiday.

The tent was a bugger to erect and they both fell down several times, laughing stupidly at first then getting rather frustrated. The weather was glorious and was ideal for camping and after half an hour, they were both drenched in sweat and dreaded the remainder of the task of making sure their 'home' for the fortnight would stay upright.

It was a really good tent, with a key operated lock on the door. It had a separate living and sleeping space and a collapsible gazebo at the front. It was two hours before everything was sorted.

The air was fresh and the place surrounded by outstanding natural beauty. They had pitched their tent not far from a field that could easily be six acres big, and beyond that, a thick woody forest. It reminded Alex of the Collinsons' case.

There were feral horses around and many posters warning people not to approach or interact with them. Alex remembered when she was 11 that she had completely ignored the posters and petted as many horses as possible. They didn't seem fazed and she hadn't got hurt. But now, as an adult, she was mindful of the damage that such majestic animals could cause.

There were two buildings nearby for bathing and toilets, so it was a great spot to stay for two weeks. After the unpacking and arranging was done, Alex laid herself out on the sleeping bag and felt more relaxed than she ever had since moving to Baker Street.

"What now?" Molly sighed as she too collapsed onto her sleeping bag, bouncing off the soft cushioning of the airbed beneath it.

"We chillax, Molly, and then go and get some food!"

There was a village and a couple of pubs not far away and they both indulged in large meal. Putting up a tent had proved an appetite building ordeal. They had decided to not be too long as their belongings were in their tent.

"I wonder what Sherlock would make of the New Forest." Molly said as soon as they were shown to their seats.

"Molly, you've mentioned Sherlock eight times in total since we arrived here. I know you love the guy, but talking about him incessantly won't suddenly make him love you in return."

Alex's blatant words hit Molly as if she had written them on paper, attached them to the bottle the candle was slotted into and clocked her over the head with it. Molly felt like leaping to her own defence about her feelings although she couldn't deny that Alex had shot the arrow to the right spot. It wouldn't change a thing talking about Sherlock, or even thinking about him.

"I know, talking and thinking about him is a way of having him with you, but Molly, the reality of the situation is that Sherlock is not interested in _anyone_. I honestly believe that he wouldn't know sexual attraction if it came up and bit him on the behind." Molly giggled and took a sip of her coke.

"However, I will say that if the great Sherlock Holmes were here, he would hate it! He's a London boy all over!" Alex said, prompting a little laugh from Molly.

"That's true. Anyway, let's enjoy the holiday as much as possible." She said, raising her glass to toast.

The next three days consisted of fantastic weather and early mornings hearing birds chirping, rather than the sounds of traffic and seagulls as well as the thick, polluted air of the Capital. Alex had moved to London due to work commitments but always dreamed of a life in the country. Molly had also said that she would like a place outside of London, however nearby so she could come and go as she pleased.

There were tons of holiday makers on the campsite. Alex estimated that there were over five hundred people holidaying in the single resort they were in. Many were large families, and a few metres away were a gay couple, celebrating their civil partnership with a honeymoon in the New Forest. Alex and Molly got to know the gentlemen, Tony and Ryan, well over the three days, as well as another couple a little further away and their two children.

Molly had shown a completely different side to her. Usually withdrawn and shy, she was strangely enjoying the relaxed atmosphere of the place and seemed to come out of her shell. She chatted confidently with the gay couple and played tennis with the other couple's ten year old son. Alex filled in diaries every single day and intended to write them up as mini blogs on her website. She had only set it up a week before, under her pseudonym, and often liked to describe any writing experiences or anything that inspired her.

One afternoon, Molly had gone to one of the buildings to wash their plastic dinner plates and Alex supervised their spot, observing a rather beautiful bay mare of about 16hh stroll past. It prompted Alex to finally allow herself to look to edge of the forest that lay at the other side of the field they had pitched their tent next to. The only thing that separated them from the field was a couple of trees and a ditch, which had likely been a stream at some point.

"Molly, how about tomorrow we go and explore the woods? Take a picnic?" Alex asked as her friend arrived back. Alex arose when she noticed that the pathologist was struggling to keep all the cups and plates in the plastic bags and helped her put them in their places.

"Erm, ok. Just us?" Molly queried.

"Yeah, just for a couple of hours. We can ask Tony and Ryan to let us know if anything happens, they said while you were washing the cutlery that they were just going to be hanging around tomorrow."

The next day, at about midday, the two women set off crossing the vast field, heading for the forest. It took over twenty minutes to complete the journey just to the edge, and to their delight, there appeared to be a clearing between the trees and a path extending from it. Several ponies were grazing nearby and Molly had to remind Alex to walk towards the path and not to the horses. They had already booked a two-hour hack for the forthcoming weekend so Alex could indulge her love of horses all she liked.

It was rather dark under the green and grey canopy of the forest, yet somehow comforting. They spotted several squirrels, unusual birds and even a grass snake. The women stood still as they saw it and let it slither away before continuing down the path. They passed some more horses that had made their way into the gaps between the trees to graze on the grass and leaves. At one point they noticed a huge spider's web between two thin trunks and a large garden spider in the middle. The protruding silk threads made its legs look even longer.

The sight reminded Alex of a conversation she had with Sherlock a couple of weeks before. He had likened 'consulting criminal', Jim Moriarty, to a spider in the middle of a massive web, commanding the threads to perform the way that he wished, realising when prey came near each one and would know how to trap it. It was his own web and he could do what he wanted with it. That was the only reason for his conduct and behaviour. He did all those awful things simply because he could.

The two women moved on from this spectacle and came to a fork in the path with no sign posts. Both routes looked practically identical. The same brown-grey dusty paths with twigs, leaves and there was no clear indicator of where they went. Molly and Alex looked at one another and shrugged their shoulders.

"Ok, shall we just go right and see where it takes us and if it's crap we can come back and go the other way?" Alex asked. Molly acquiesced and they set off.

"Are we actually looking for anything?" Molly enquired.

"Just somewhere to have the picnic, I suppose. Somewhere not too far away that we get lost, really."

Continuing down the path, they saw that it ended at a certain point, but there was still room to meander through the trees. There were several leaves around and Molly opted to go first. Alex was rather unsteady on her feet and hated walking down slopes, but Molly was confident that it would be ok. She went first to ensure that the route down into something that appeared to be a ditch was safe. The only other obstacle would be the climb out of it. There was no way around it either. Alex was about to suggest going back to try the other path when Molly let out an almighty scream. She scrambled to get out of the ditch back up to Alex, clinging to her like she was a lifeline.

"Molly, what is it? Look at me, why did you scream?" Molly looked inconsolable, distressed and struggling to speak. She managed to choke out a few words after a minute of trying to calm down.

"Down there… a d-dead body!"

Alex leaned over the edge, trying hard not to fall. She faintly got the scent of rotting meat and a small glimpse of what could only be described as a mangled and worm-eaten hand poking out of the sleeve of a winter coat. It had been there for some time. There were several branches at the bottom of the ditch, many leaves and Alex could make out the tattered edge of a blanket. Dark grey and heavy duty. Molly was a pathologist and used to seeing dead bodies. But this was definitely a shock, particularly for Alex who almost fainted at what she saw, and reached for Molly as the two held onto one another, trying to control their breathing.

"We need to call the p-police…" Molly said, still shaking.

Alex and Molly were led out of the forest and back into the first clearing they saw, draped in shock blankets, where they were both offered sweet tea. Forensics had sectioned off the area and were desperately trying to make connections. The body was of a man in his thirties, dead for approximately six weeks, but a cause of death had not been established. No obvious wounds or signs of trauma.

After recounting their story three times to separate police officers, and overhearing the police talking, Molly turned to Alex and mentioned a name she hadn't for several days.

"Sherlock." She whispered. Alex didn't need her to elaborate. They both knew that there was only one man who could solve this mystery. They both arose from their seats in the back of the ambulance to approach the DI in charge.

**Another mystery. Sherlock in the New Forest – a match made in heaven! Haha. If anyone has any theories about how the bloke died, please do not hesitate to hazard a guess. Thanks for reading **


	15. The New Forest Part Two

**Part two of the mystery…**

Alex and Molly had spent the night in their tent as usual and neither found it easy to sleep. Images of the body tormented Molly and Alex couldn't shake that awful smell of rotting flesh. But they were happy that they had spoken with DI Buchanan, as he had agreed to give Sherlock a call. Lestrade had called and spoken with Buchanan and advised him in no uncertain terms that Sherlock should be given free reign over the case, as well as access to any forensics he needed.

He and John had taken the next available train to Lyndhurst, Hampshire, but Sherlock would be damned if he were to go camping. Being a military man, John would have been more than up for it, however, he decided to join his friend in a nearby hotel.

The girls went to meet them at the entrance to the campsite, where the police and the forensics team were waiting. Sherlock had already been introduced to the DI. As Alex approached, she noticed the look on his pale face. It was of sheer disgust! His body was rigid and he stayed still as if rooted to the spot he was on, a concrete area he had deliberately picked which was just on the edge of a stretch of green. His steely eyes were rolling all over the place, staring at the piles of horse manure as if they were throwing insults at him or were trying to move closer. He scowled at the sound of a bird singing a rather charming song above him and really didn't look like he wanted to breathe in the atmosphere of the place. Sherlock was a city man, not a country boy.

"It's not that bad." John tried to reassure his friend. Sherlock just scoffed.

"They're wild horses, all they eat is grass and plants, it's not poison. It doesn't matter if you get it on your shoes. Don't frown like that." He continued.

"John, of all places, why did a murder have to be committed in such a rural part of the country? Honestly, why can't someone dispose of a body on a building site or in the Thames? Had to be the New Forest!" Sherlock moaned.

"You agreed to come, Sherlock, you didn't hav… Hang on, how do you know it was murder?" John furrowed his eyebrows at the detective, whose face became a tad more cheerful at this question. He loved being asked how he did what he did.

"It was obvious, John, you saw the photos of the crime scene and of the body but, as per usual, you did not _observe_. Neither did the Hampshire police! Does the countryside make stupid people more stupid?"

"Hi guys!" Alex said as she approached them. John was pleased to see Alex and Molly, but Molly was more interested in Sherlock. She instantly went all gooey, giving him the 'schoolgirl crush' smile. He ignored it and asked the girls what they were doing there.

"Well, we discovered the body…" Molly said tentatively.

"I know, I saw your statements. That is all I need from you both, you may as well return to your little tent and continue on your holiday." He seemed colder than usual and eager for them to go away. Alex was a little hurt.

"Sherlock, we just want to help." She said. Sherlock was about to protest when Buchanan interrupted them. He too was not happy with Alex and Molly being involved.

"This is for the professionals and anyone that the professionals have permitted to help, namely these two gentlemen. Thank you, ladies, for suggesting Mr Holmes and Doctor Watson, and for discovering the body, but you are of no use to us now. Sorry." Alex and Molly had to acknowledge that this was true. Just because they had suggested the boys to the DI, this did not mean that they would be included in the investigations. Molly then found some courage.

"I'm a pathologist and Alex here has been involved in cases with Sherlock before, so we could be of some help if you'll let us? More heads may be useful." She looked at the DI pleadingly, who stared at them both. He then turned to Sherlock.

"So, she is a pathologist and the other woman has assisted you before?" Buchanan asked him.

"Yes, but…" Sherlock started.

"Well, would you like them to help you during your investigation?"

"It's not that we don't want them to," John said, "it's that last time this happened, Alex got hurt."

"That could have happened to any of us, John. It was a bomb and nothing to do with me having a propensity to get hurt." Alex defended herself.

"Ok, ladies and gents, let's not do this here. I've sent the body to Bournemouth Mortuary. You can go and have a look, Miss…"

"Molly Hooper, Doctor." She said, shaking Buchanan's hand.

John agreed to go with Molly to Bournemouth, whilst Alex and Sherlock headed into the forest.

"Show me the route you and Molly took." Sherlock said as they crossed the small ditch near her tent and into the field. Alex did as she was asked and led Sherlock to the abyss where the man's body was found. Sherlock had been looking around keenly, taking in the views and deducing the route with his expert eyes and pristine brain. Still, he was sure to place his expensive shoe covered feet in strategic places and sneered at a couple of squirrels scattily running around a tree. Alex stopped three metres away from the ditch. There were still strips of tape circumventing the area, although Sherlock didn't care.

Dropping down to the lower level, Alex lost him from sight completely. To his disappointment, the heavy duty blanket had been removed. The leaves and branches remained.

"There are more than the usual amounts of forestry and foliage around here. Normally discarded and fell branches as well as loose leaves collect naturally in trenches, but the amount of branches and leaves suggest that someone has deliberately covered up the body. The indentation in the ground shows that he fell in the spot that he was found and was not moved. Some of the branches had deliberately been broken off, sothe person who did this knew that the body would eventually be discovered. They hoped that the wild animals would devour the body. Maybe they were planning to return to check."

Sherlock climbed out of the ditch and joined his companion.

"All we need now is the results from the mortuary. They are yet to identify the man."

They walked back to the campsite without exchanging a word. Sherlock agreed to stay at the tent for the rest of the day until Buchanan, or his colleagues, texted him. He stared at the little blue deck chair as if Alex were asking him to sit on a cow pat. He opted for pacing and ignoring the cheeping of the birds. He did gladly accept Alex's offer of a tea, even if it was served in a rather stupid looking blue plastic mug. Why do people feel the need to have the colours of holiday equipment matching? He thought. He took off the large, heavy coat he always wore for outdoor detective work and folded it neatly before placing it carefully on the seat of the chair, taking care to ensure that the folds were nowhere near the edges.

Soon, Alex's phone rang.

"Hi, Molly."

"Hi, it was hemlock poisoning, he had ingested a hemlock leaf, which had been chopped up before consumption two hours before he died." Molly seemed eager to get her words out as if she had discovered a new wonder drug. Alex relayed this to Sherlock, who promptly snatched the phone from her.

"Molly, could you type and print the results and bring them to me, please? Has Buchanan contacted you? Nor I. I'll keep you posted." He ended the call and tossed it towards Alex, who caught it just in time before it landed in her mug of tea. Alex thought about giving Sherlock a hard time before she realised that with the case being of utmost importance, the world's greatest detective needed his mind to be completely focused.

"He was accidentally poisoned." Sherlock said after half an hour. He had his hands poised under his bottom lip in 'prayer', his eyes alive with determination. Alex asked him to repeat.

"He was accidentally poisoned with the leaf of a hemlock plant. Hemlock is a member of the parsley family but is not edible like parsley or wild carrot plants. That's why the hemlock was chopped up - he thought it was an edible plant!" Sherlock was elated at this notion.

"Hemlock is how Socrates died…" Alex muttered.

"Sorry, what?" Alex had forgotten that Sherlock didn't know anything about literature, let alone about one of the most famous philosophers of all time.

"Nothing. So, he didn't die by falling into the ditch?" Alex asked.

"Nope. The fall is only enough to seriously injure a man, not kill. There are no rocks or anything hard like tree roots to cause a serious head injury where he was found. There were rocks around the place, and tree roots, but let's not forget that the man fell where he was found and was not moved from where he was. There were no signs of head trauma, or even any injury to the body where he could have bled out."

"Then why did someone attempt to cover his body up?" Alex asked. For the first time in a long time, Sherlock looked perplexed. He pressed his lips together and blinked a couple of times.

"No idea…" He admitted, which Alex knew took more guts to say than most people when they didn't have a clue.

It had been two hours and Sherlock was restless. He was walking around more vigorously now, avoiding piles of manure that Alex and Molly had moved to the outside of their tent area, and had attracted the attention of Tony and Ryan. They both whispered amongst themselves and giggled. They even tried smiling at Sherlock, but he blanked them.

"How did he get there? He wasn't dragged. He must have been alive when he fell, _if_ he fell…" Sherlock muttered and mumbled to himself. When his phone sounded (he had recently invested in a new IPhone 4, deciding that it was better than his BlackBerry), he couldn't yank it out of his jacket quick enough.

"Sherlock Holmes. Yes, thank you. Thank you so much. I'll be waiting."

He turned off his phone, slipped it back into his jacket pocket, flung his coat on and departed the haven of Alex and Molly's camping area in a space of two seconds. Alex called after him.

"Sherlock, wait up!" He turned around, which surprised Alex. He was a man on a mission and would never allow anything to distract him. Not even John if he had asked him to wait up. Alex expected him to continue to walk while she hurried after him.

"Alex, I'd rather to do this on my own. Plus, you have your belongings strewn everywhere around the tent and you need to keep an eye on things. Molly will be back soon, please wait for me, or John, to contact you. Thank you for your help."

With his last words, he turned and made up for lost time, sprinting towards the entrance to the campsite. Alex went back to the tent, to be greeted curiously by Tony and Ryan.

"Who was that?" Ryan asked.

"Sherlock Holmes, the world's greatest, and only, 'consulting' detective." Alex said sarcastically.

They boys' faces looked at one another, grinning from ear to ear.

"Thought so." Tony said and headed back to his tent. Ryan stayed where he was, and Tony returned a couple of seconds later with a newspaper. Alex gasped as she read the headline:

"Sherlock and John: Blogger Detectives"

After reading the paper, some things she agreed with and some she didn't about Sherlock and John's relationship and their personalities, Molly Hopper came back. She was pale and rather out of breath.

"It was quite horrendous. One of the most decomposed bodies I've ever seen."

"Sherlock thinks that the hemlock actually killed him, so he ended up in the ditch by separate means. He still doesn't know how he ended up there, having not been moved but clearly there was a cover up as there were leaves and branches covering him, as well as the blanket. The body wasn't moved and the impact of the fall wasn't enough to kill him. Maybe cause concussion. That's about it."

They sat in silence for a bit, munching on crisps they had bought the previous day and thinking it through. Tony and Ryan had ventured off for dinner, leaving Molly and Alex to return the favour of supervising. The weather was slightly different to how it was before. Clouds had rolled over but the air was still warm. No threat of rain, but it was welcome after days of being baked in the sun. Molly's phone rang at about six in the evening. It was John. She put it on loud speaker.

"Molly, we've identified the body. John Carter, 33 years old. Been missing for six weeks. His brother Michael alerted the police some weeks ago. Although he denied it, it turns out that Michael had a brief holiday in the New Forest around six weeks ago. He had come with his girlfriend and, one day, she decided to meet up with her friends and go to a local pub, and John, who lived actually in Lyndhurst, decided to visit his brother. Sherlock is questioning Michael now. It seems like we are looking at conspiracy and failure to notify the police. But it is quite strange as the man died of hemlock poisoning, self-administered. The girlfriend's friends met up with her at the tent for dinner before they departed, and they all say that the brothers had been 'foraging', and brought back some 'parsley'. It was only John who added the 'parsley' to his food. He was the only one poisoned."

"Wow!" Alex exclaimed.

"I know. I still don't have a clue. I think Sherlock is very close to solving it, mind. I'll keep you both updated."

It wasn't until half past eight when the girls heard from Sherlock and John. This time, it was not by telephone. Molly jumped like she had been stung by a bee when she heard Sherlock announce his and John's presences.

"Case solved." This instantly got the attention of both Molly and Alex, but also Tony and Ryan. The other couple with the children had been away all day and had heard nothing of the case. Now, the young men were rather interested. Sherlock recounted the earlier events as John had and finally revealed the elusive secrets of the case.

"After dinner, John and Michael went for a walk in the forest. Perfectly innocently, although their conversation became argumentative at a certain point. John's speech began to fail, his expression became blank from paralysis and when Michael had grabbed him during their altercation, he noticed that his brother wasn't answering him. Believing John to be mocking him, he throttled him, but this was very close to the edge of the ditch. John fell backwards and Michael let go of him. Michael thought that he had killed his brother as he appeared to be dead when he hit the ground, however he was actually paralysed, very near death. It happened to be that at the moment he fell, it coincided with a few minutes of his passing."

"So he covered it up?" Alex asked.

"Yes, he panicked and found an old blanket in the wood, belonging to some homeless person who had left it there. Michael returned to his tent, found his girlfriend gone and having stolen the keys to John's vehicle, he drove it back to his home and got the bus back to the New Forest. He arrived back at the tent more or less the same time as the girlfriend, who fell for his story; that John Carter had driven home after dinner. Michael then reported his brother missing after pretending to visit him. Seems he let himself in using a credit card and tried to cover up any evidence that he had visited the New Forest, even going so far as to delete records of calls from his own mobile and text messages. He had discarded John's mobile in the Highland Water river. He also planted John's house and car keys in the house, as well as his wallet to make it seem as if his brother had disappeared in suspicious circumstances. Afterwards, Michael destroyed his own credit card statement showing his payment to the New Forest for the holiday and discarded the tent at a household waste site. The girlfriend thought that they had accidentally thrown the packed up tent out with the normal rubbish and believed her boyfriend's story."

"So he's not looking at a murder charge?" Molly asked, noticing that Tony and Ryan were earwigging.

"No, conspiracy. This should still have him sent down for a long period of time."

They stared at each other, impressed with Sherlock's tenacity and pure talent once again. John looked like he could shake his friend's hand and congratulate him, but was really not necessary. Sherlock had, one again, given a star performance and had an audience to show for it.

"Sorry, I know you're probably working, Mr Holmes and Doctor Watson, but please could you sign this for us?" Ryan rushed in and held out the paper with a permanent marker. Sherlock's face was a picture of annoyance and petulance as he turned his body around to distance himself from the crazed fan. The words "Oh, for God's sake…"could be heard faintly.

"I will!" John was more than happy to oblige. However it was clear that the boys really wanted Sherlock's signature. After seeing that the man would not going to reduce himself to a stardom loving celebrity, Tony and Ryan departed, semi content with John's autograph.

"Well, what now?" Alex said after a few minutes.

"Now, you ladies can continue with your holiday." John said, taking a seat on a blanket. Molly and Alex had only taken two deck chairs. Sherlock was still standing with his back to his three comrades, lost in his own mind.

"How about you stay for a bit and have a cup of tea with us?" Molly offered, looking only at Sherlock as she said this. She then got up from her deck chair and took a seat next to John, silently offering her seat to the detective.

Still keeping his feet on the floor and turning round to see what she had done, he thought for a second and took a seat, both looking and feeling strange so low to the ground.

"I've got some burgers and sausages in the cool box, and an instant barbecue. Would you two like to have dinner with us here?" Alex asked them both. John's face lit up and he looked eagerly to Sherlock to ask if he would agree to this. It took a few seconds for a response.

"Go on then…" He sighed, still not 100% happy but willing to accept a free dinner. He repositioned the chair so that it was out of the way of any manure, giving the pats the 'stare' again, and gratefully ate dinner with John and the girls.

The remainder of the holiday went as planned. Sherlock and John returned to London the following day, whilst Alex and Molly continued camping for the remaining nine days. They enjoyed their hack, and booked a few others to pass the time. Once they were both back in London, all tanned and healthy looking, it was back to work as normal for the pathologist and Alex knew she had a lot of writing to do.

**Hope this is a good chapter! I loved making Sherlock suffer a little bit, but it was also good to have him chill out for a bit after solving the case. Thanks for reading. **


	16. A Proper Chat

**Hope you liked the last case, hope you like this too…**

_The room was full of men in suits, mostly black, women in gold and white dresses and the occasional bloke in a tux. They were all there to impress. To impress her. She meandered through them, each one wanting time with her, a piece of her. Extending their hands, their faces stretching into full on smiles, teeth white and sparkling just like their half full glasses of champagne. Sounds of 'congratulations' and 'well done' filtered through the air. She couldn't walk through them and avoid bodily contact or risk knocking a glass of champagne, but she had to get past. Through to the front of the room where a podium awaited her. As she ascended, sounds of applause crackled throughout the atmosphere, and amongst it, the noise of the clinking of glasses. A man on the stage held out his hand to her, which she shook, before he turned his hands in the direction of the microphone, inviting her to speak. She approached the microphone, hearing the sound of clapping and clinking die down. They were preparing to hear her words, to listen to her speak, to know what was going on inside that head. Grasping the object with her left hand, she opened her mouth. But instead of hearing her own voice, she heard…_

Ringing. Ringing and ringing, and the sound of her front door rattling and banging, even though she was in her bedroom and could only hear it faintly.

Alex blinked her eyes open, grabbed her phone from the bedside cabinet and looked at the identity of the caller. Sherlock. Oh for God's sake! What is the man calling for at 4:09am?

"Bloody hell…" Alex cursed as she slammed her thumb down on the left hand side button, grudgingly accepting the call.

"Do you know what bloody time it is, Sherlock?" Alex slurred slightly, still full of sleep.

"Absolutely! Guess what?" He cried.

"Cold potatoes aren't hot…?" Alex really wasn't in the mood for guessing games.

"Sorry?" Sherlock asked, clearly not understanding the joke.

"Nothing. What do you want? Are you outside my door?"

"Yes. Can you let me in, please?" He pleaded. Alex hesitated for a moment then got out of bed and placed her phone on the bed whilst she threw on her dressing gown and checked herself in the tall mirror on the door of her wardrobe. The hair was awful and her eyes were sinking into her skull. Even in the dark it was obvious. Oh, blow it! She thought and went to her flat door to the consulting detective.

"What is it, Sherlock? I was having a really good dream until…"

"There was a murder on the stage! I went to see Terror By Night and there was _an actual murder_!" He had grabbed Alex by the shoulders at this point, so elated it sparked off him at all angles.

"And you're telling me this why?" Alex was still unimpressed. The man let her go and looked somewhat deflated.

"It was a real murder, Alex! I went to see a murder mystery on Broadway and there was supposed to be a murder in the show, but it actually happened! I solved it, naturally."

"Naturally." Alex said, feeling herself wake up.

"I phoned John and left him some messages, but I don't know if he's heard them. On another one of his dates, again."

Alex went down the stairs and into her living room, noticing that the sky was paling and the floor of the room was lightening to a silvery grey.

"The woman with the acne?" Alex asked.

"No, this one's got a rather disproportionately, abnormally, large nose. Like a landmark on her face."

"God, Sherlock, you can _really_ be so damn charming when you wanna be!" Alex said as she made some tea. Sherlock hadn't even asked for one and she hadn't offered, but it would be impolite to not make one for him. He followed her into the kitchen, still raving about the play and how dull it was until the crucial moment when the aluminium crutch was cracked over the head of the unfortunate actor, who subsequently died. It was accidental, sort of.

"So it was a case of inadvertent suicide, administered by another party. Rather simple."

"Mmm." Said Alex through her sips of tea, "and John was on a date with a lady with a large nose all this time?"

"Yep. Don't know why. Why does he do that?" Sherlock said as he slumped onto Alex's sofa, being sure to not spill his tea and remove the cushions that were annoyingly plump and soft. His tall form eased back into the comfy couch as if he owned it. He turned his eyes to the available space as if to invite Alex to sit on her own sofa!

"You are so bloody cheeky, Sherlock Holmes." Alex sat down, but square and facing her television set, whilst the detective was turned on his left, facing the writer.

"Are you not going to answer my question?"

"If you want to know why John goes on dates, ask him." Alex still hadn't forgiven the man for interrupting her sleep.

"I'm asking you."

"Why?" Alex turned to look at Sherlock this time.

"You date, don't you?"

Alex had to think about that. She hadn't been in love for a while and had a few dates, and even some 'casual acquaintances' since she moved to London, but nothing long term.

"Yeah, but…"

"Well, why do people do it?" Alex saw that Sherlock wasn't mocking for once, he was genuinely curious.

"Well, to get to know someone, flirt a little and have fun. Have you ever dated?" Sherlock appeared rather incredulous about this.

"No." It was a one syllable word that definitely meant what it said.

Alex wasn't sure what to say so she just took to drinking her tea in silence and the twilight of the morning, not caring if she was boring the man beside her. The tea was so soothing and Alex could hardly get enough. She was even thinking about making another before she had finished the one she had. Sherlock was slurping rather annoyingly.

"Wonder how John's date went." Alex said to herself.

"Dull…" Sherlock interjected.

"How do you know?" Alex wondered how he could possibly know something when he hadn't seen the evidence.

"His dates are always dull. And by dates I mean the women he goes out with, not the silly places he takes them."

"What's wrong with them?" Alex asked, placing her empty cup on the coffee table.

"Like I said. They're _dull_! Stupid, boring and mundane."

Alex caught a touch of something else in his tone.

"Jealous, much?" She asked, smirking a little.

"Jealous?" He cried as if the word had bitten him on the arm. Alex gave a verbal nod.

"Why would I be jealous?" He asked.

"Would you rather have John all to yourself solving crimes and chasing criminals?" Alex was more than mindful of the rumours of romance between the doctor and the detective. But she knew that it wasn't true and if Sherlock was jealous, it wouldn't involve any romantic motives. Sherlock appeared to think, as if he knew the answer but didn't want to seem possessive of his best friend. He then decided that honesty was the best policy.

"Yes, actually. Solving crimes and hunting down criminals is a much better pastime than going on _dates_," he emphasised the word with disdain, "or… sleeping with people for the sake of it."

"I take it you're a virgin, then?" Alex asked. She looked him in the eye saying this and Sherlock knew that as blatant as her question was, she was being very mature about it and had no glint of amusement in her eye.

"I've never felt the need to. Don't see the point." He answered, keeping eye contact.

"Fair enough." Alex said with a shrug of her shoulders as she got to her feet and went to make another tea. The detective followed her and placed himself on the stool at the end of the counter. Alex was rather uncomfortable with Sherlock watching her make more tea. He seemed to do so with a critical eye, although he didn't say anything. She was fully awake now and wouldn't go back to sleep if she were to lay down in bed.

"How did you deduce that I've not experienced sex?" He asked when Alex had passed him his second cup of tea. Alex stared about her, realising that this was her moment to say what she saw.

"Err, ok. Correct me if I'm wrong at any point, but here goes: You hardly eat or sleep, meaning you have minimal respect for your body and I've known you to ignore signs that your body is giving you to slow down and would probably still be working if you were dying of pneumonia."

Sherlock's face was a picture of delight and inquisitiveness, and his little nod urged Alex to continue.

"It's a biological necessity to eat, drink and sleep, but not to have sex and, therefore, I doubt very much you'd allow yourself to indulge your body's not so basic functions. You would probably consider kissing, and even self-pleasuring, a meaningless waste of time, dull, boring and what was the other word? Mundane!" Alex waited for an answer from the detective. Would he correct her if she was wrong?

"Anything else?" He enquired.

Alex pursed her lips and rolled her eyes around the room, thinking hard.

"Well, I quite understand that your great passion in life is your job and anything that gets in the way or distracts you is just simply cast aside. Am I wrong?" Alex's heart was beating a little faster than normal and her breathing slightly deeper and quicker. She didn't even try to conceal it. Sherlock Holmes sees through everything.

"No one has ever deduced me like that." He said calmly.

"Are you not going to answer my question?" Alex repeated Sherlock's query from earlier.

He just continued to stare and took a short sharp breath out through his nose and set his tea down on the counter. His eyes moved to another spot in the room, an location unknown and he prepared to answer her.

"You are correct. I would ask you how you know but I think you've answered that question already."

"Observation, Mr Holmes." Alex took another sip of her tea while still connecting her eyes with Sherlock's. She could hardly contain her satisfaction that she had deduced the Master of Deduction.

"You have observed well. I noticed it the day we met."

"Is that a compliment?" Alex asked, still grinning and trying to drink tea at the same time.

"Don't you want to know what I noticed?" Sherlock asked, not giving her an answer.

"I know. I noticed that you hadn't pointed out in front of John that I'm gay, and I realised why you hadn't." Alex had once again hit the nail on the head. Sherlock turned his smirk into a full on beam.

"Yes and I had to put you to the test the following day."

"I take it I passed?" Alex asked, still excited.

"For an average 23 year old woman, yes."

"Oh…" Alex said, feeling her elation disband. She had come to acknowledge that a seeming insult from Sherlock Holmes shouldn't be taken personally. She decided to let it slide and revert to their earlier topic.

"So, you've never dated? Never been interested in _anyone_ at all?" Alex asked. Sherlock shook his head once.

"Nobody has really interested me." He said, staring at the same unknown spot. Alex then became curious about the detective's orientation. Did he even know himself?

"Sherlock, would you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

"You can ask. Whether you'll get an answer is another thing altogether."

"What do you identify as? I mean, are you gay, straight, bi?" Alex was rather nervous asking this.

"I don't identify as any of those." He said nonchalantly, sipping his tea.

"So, you're asexual?"

"No." Alex was confused by this answer.

"I don't understand. How can you not be gay, straight, bi nor asexual?"

"I refuse to be labelled. I'm a consulting detective with a superior mind. As you correctly deduced, matters relating to the physical, including sexual, do not interest me."

Alex moved into the living room with Sherlock following her. She really didn't know what to think. She admired Sherlock for rejecting a label, identifying himself purely as who he was, except he did have a grandiose sense of superiority. However, after knowing him for over three months, Alex had accepted this part of him and no longer berated him for having an over-sized ego.

"Although," he said as Alex took up her place on the sofa, and Sherlock sat on the other side, "I am curious in a way as to why people kill over love and sex." This was difficult for Alex to explain, even for someone who was good with words.

"It's… hard to conceptualise, really. If you've never experienced either, you won't understand it."

"You've been in love." This was not a question from the detective. He had deduced it, obviously.

"Yes. Twice in fact." Alex wasn't sure if she wished to spill her heart out to Sherlock. She was certain he wouldn't want to hear it and would get bored even if she wanted to. She just sat there finishing her tea, before deciding that she needed to use the bathroom.

When she came out, Sherlock was nosing through Alex's DVD and Wii games collection. He recognised a few James Bond films, took them off the shelf and read the backs.

"How did you know?" Sherlock asked, not taking his eyes from the DVD case for Goldfinger.

"Know what?"

"Know that you were in love?" Alex was rather surprised at this. She had half expected him to ask how she knew she was gay.

"Well, it starts as an attraction, a sort of urge to get closer and as you get to know them and spend time with them, you don't want to be apart from them and they become everything that's important to you. Love is a strong emotion, whereas infatuation is just simply obsessive attraction. Many people confuse love and infatuation. I've experienced both, and love is so powerful it can more or less kill you." Alex had well and truly caught the undivided attention of the man. He had the DVD case poised him his hand and his eyes were locked onto Alex, wide and his face a picture of shock.

"On both occasions I was dumped. Hurt like hell." Alex felt a wave of the pain she had gone through almost a year before. It was like being told she wasn't good enough and her confidence had taken a knock. Something she hadn't been able to shake.

"How did you get over them?" Sherlock asked, thumbing the edges of the DVD case. Alex bit back tears.

"To be honest, I don't think I've got over my second girlfriend and a part of me never will. She was the love of my life, but I wasn't hers. Sounds trivial compared to pain that other people go through, yet a broken heart isn't something I'd wish on my worst enemy. It was my second girlfriend who helped mend my heart after my first love." Alex had done what she really didn't want to do. Pour her inner emotions out to someone who didn't care about them. But as she looked at Sherlock after the last few words left her lips, she caught sight of the real man appearing at a crack in the mask of his.

"How can a heart break?" Sherlock asked.

"Same way a ceramic garden gnome breaks when you drop it. Depends on the surface, how high and how hard."

"It can literally break?" Sherlock asked, indicating his eyes to the centre of his chest.

"Not literally. Not the heart that pumps your blood. It's more of a feeling that the very core of your being is shattered into a thousand pieces. The person who drops the 'gnome' is usually the object of your love. They have the power to do with it what they will." Alex explained.

"Then why give it to someone? That I don't understand…" Sherlock said as he placed the DVD back onto the shelf, folding his arms and taking another step towards Alex.

"Love itself feels amazing, Sherlock. It's also involuntary, even though it can be influenced by one's own actions. It's just the rejection of love, the loss and the heartbreak that is painful. But it's always love that is the common denominator."

"Yes. It's also the most common reason for crime, next to money, material gain, revenge or power." Sherlock sighed as he turned around to pick up his tea.

"My first love dropped my heart from a small height. It broke in just a couple of places, so I could put it back together again. Took some time, but it happened. But my second love threw it from about ten floors and came down and stamped on it, crushing it. I can find as many pieces as I can, put it back together as much as possible, but there are still a couple of little bits that never make it. The heart is not the same again no matter how much time is given or who may come and try and mend it. Once the heart has been obliterated, it is never the same again."

Sherlock continued to look her in the eye, not showing any signs of boredom yet, but Alex was sure that this enemy of his would rear its head soon if she didn't stop.

"Sorry to confess all. Just I'm still a bit raw. I'm going to go have a shower and get dressed and I'm sure you've got things to do." Alex looked down as she said this, embarrassed about the vulnerability that she had obviously displayed in the presence of the most analytical person in the world. His face was still expressionless, but gentle and his eyes were wide open, absorbing her words and her emotions, yet not reflecting them.

"I'll let you get on. John's stayed out the night, he'll be home about ten o clock. Might as well have a rather messy experiment waiting for him." Alex laughed at this and wished Sherlock a good morning as he gratefully, and politely, placed his empty mug into the kitchen sink, rather than leave it on the coffee table for Mrs Hudson to clean up as he normally would do in his own flat. He smiled and nodded to Alex as he made his way to the stairs leading up to the lobby.

"Oh, and Sherlock?" He turned to her as she called his name, one foot on the stairs.

"Next time you feel like waking me up in the middle of the night with some exciting news about a case you've solved…" His eyebrow arched as she said this, waiting for the remainder of the speech. Alex was also ready to leave the living room in favour of the bathroom. She paused before she spoke again.

"Don't."

**Sorry if this is a rather crap chapter. Thought it would be good to know Alex's previous love life and Sherlock's queries about love and sex. Love to the fans of this story, much more to come. Kisses XXX**


	17. The Scandal

**Thank you so much for all your gorgeous reviews. I'm really moved. Thanks esp to Anna for her continued support and for feedback on my drafts. This is a chapter that I was particularly looking forward to writing, but it has taken several attempts. This is my own version of ASIB, including Alex.**

Summer was nearly over and the weather was becoming mild again. Alex preferred it this way. Most people loved the sunny weather and complained about rain and clouds incessantly and although she loved the variable British weather, it was the topic of most conversations and usually the default one when people had nothing else to talk about. The majority of the time it would be moaned about. Alex never moaned when the sun was covered up and the temperature was lower. She preferred it. The sun was far too bright and too hot for her liking. Migraines, sunburn, heat exhaustion and the need to wear sunscreen were just inconvenient for the writer. Thank god for the changing seasons!

Her shoulder bag weighed quite a bit with her notebook and art equipment as she made her way home. Hyde Park was a great place to chill out at, especially at night. She had met up with three girls from the local gay bar the previous evening at Hyde Park. They had stayed there all night, chilling out and making Chinese lanterns. They had slept in turns on picnic blankets under the stars and in the open, eating pizza and making tea from a gas stove that they had to keep out of sight. It was wonderful and peaceful. She had tried to persuade John to come with her, but he came home from Dublin late at night and was rather knackered.

Early that morning, slogging her way to Baker Street, Alex fished in her pocket for her keys, which had annoyingly found their way to the bottom of the front pocket of her bag. Bloody typical. Once she had found them, she held them up to place the right one in the outside door lock with a yawn, but she noticed that it was already open, summoning her into a wide awake state.

Standing there in disbelief, she heard the sound of running feet behind her. She swung around quickly, her heart jolting as she was almost flattened.

A man of about 45 with curly hair, rather overweight and a shocked face came pounding up to the door of 221b. He thrust his hand flimsily at her, not caring where it landed, to push her out of the way. Alex gasped, and noticed that the man was bright red and out of breath, somewhat anxious as if he had seen a ghost that had frightened the wits out of him.

"Sorry…" He wheezed as he went right up to the door preparing to ring the bell, but showed great surprise and delight when he realised it was open. He pushed it forcibly and ran into the lobby and up the stairs. Alex followed.

"Can I help you, please?" She called up. But the man had already ascended the entire flights to enter Sherlock and John's flat. Alex vaguely heard him speak before a loud thud and a vibration from the force shook the building. Then, another voice. A louder than normal scream from Mrs Hudson.

"Boys! You've got another one!"

Mrs Hudson walked down the stairs carefully and kept looking up to see or hear what she could when Sherlock and John had revived the man (after he had fainted, which was the loud thudding noise), and Sherlock had begun his interrogation. Not wishing to eavesdrop, Alex indulged her eyes' request to close and relax and she fell asleep on her sofa with her phone clutched in her hand.

Three hours later, Alex awoke abruptly, shocked into coming out of her coma-like state by the loud ringing and electric feeling of the vibration of her mobile. Her arm was extended towards the end of the sofa and she still had the phone in the grip of her hand. Alex swore as she heard her door knock simultaneously with the ringing, recognising the same individual responsible for such interruptions.

Without looking at the caller ID, she slapped it against her ear, still lying on the sofa and deepened her voice an octave lower than normal.

"What do you want this time, Sherlock?" There was no answer. The knocking stopped.

"Hello?" She queried.

"Please open the door, Miss Price." The voice was male and demanding, not unlike Mycroft, but definitely not him. Alex disconnected the call and muttered "Oh for Christ's sake" as she pulled herself off her sofa to meet whoever it was. She was cautious enough to not open the door fully.

"A well-dressed man of about 35 with a widow's peak was at her door, gesturing for her step outside."

"Who are you?" Alex said, not moving.

"I'm an informant of Mr Mycroft Holmes. He requires your presence immediately, please."

Alex sighed. She hadn't had a shower or changed. The man looked her up and down, reading her thoughts.

"Fine. Can you give me just five minutes, please?" She asked. The man nodded, clasped his hands together at the front and standing aside from the door.

Alex very quickly cleaned her teeth, tied her hair and changed her clothes before stepping outside of 221c. As she did, she caught sight of Sherlock Holmes in the lobby. She stood there in disbelief at how he was dressed and tried hard not to laugh.

Usually, he would be looking very smart and dapper in a designer suit with a slim cut shirt, dark curls looking un-brushed yet somehow neat, with his skin flawless and pale, but today – no.

His hair was a little messier than normal and his eyes were tired. The face was rather fresh and a little flush, possibly a bit healthier than normal. But the most shocking thing was he was draped head to toe in a large white sheet, perfectly wrapped to conceal everything. Alex guessed he was stark naked underneath. She prayed to God that the sheet didn't unwrap itself and the not so modest detective wouldn't be so bold as to remove it without ensuring that he was wearing suitable attire.

Alex didn't want to say anything and didn't want to look, but she couldn't help it.

"You wearing anything under that?" She asked.

"No." Came the reply, without eye contact. There was another man in the lobby, gesturing for Sherlock to exit the house. There was a black car waiting, similar to the Jaguar that Mycroft would either pootle about in or kidnap people with.

"Err… You're actually going out like that? Why aren't you getting dressed?" Alex asked.

"We've got his clothes here, except he won't put them on." Said the man standing closest to Sherlock. The latter threw Alex a stare and a shrug before stepping (barefoot) onto the pavement and heading into the car. He really didn't care about political correctness and judging by the suits the men wore and how prim and proper they appeared, it was obvious they were venturing towards a place of high authority. Not The Diogenes Club, they wouldn't need escorts for that. This was higher.

Alex sat next to Sherlock in the car, who seemed disinterested and almost robotic. He stayed in a square and precise position, not moving his eyes or face on whatever it was immediately in front of him. He didn't once turn, or speak, to Alex, until she plucked up the gumption to ask him.

"Do you know where we're going?"

"Buckingham Palace. The informants were perfectly dressed with manicured hands, shinier than necessary shoes, clear signs of many small dogs running around the place and given the fact that Mycroft has gladly given one of his expensive cars to escort us, the best he has and the fact that I have been told to dress in my best attire, we are certainly going to the highest place of authority in Britain."

"Sherlock! For God's sake, get dressed! I won't look." Alex said, averting her eyes.

"Why should I?" He answered as if he were a schoolboy asking why he should write lines for being late.

"Hello! It's Buckingham Palace! The Queen will have a heart attack!" Alex was shouting at this point, which prompted a knock on the other side of the partition from one of the escorts, telling her to keep it down.

Sherlock just shrugged and decided that it was best to turn his stare to the window. Alex didn't know whether this was to ensure that she couldn't see him and he couldn't see her, or that he wanted to surreptitiously examine her expressions through her reflection.

Alex had seen Buckingham Palace before from when she would come to London to do some sightseeing, but this was rather different. She was actually going _into_ the colossal building, through the gate and into the heart of the home of the Royal Family. For a short period of time, Alex forgot about the man wrapped in a sheet beside her and how carefree he was about being in such an important place and practically naked.

They were shown into a room with cream and gold sofas facing each other, a rather grand coffee table between them and a fireplace behind one sofa, opposite a large window.

Sherlock slumped down on one side of the sofa. Alex took the place at the other end. After a few minutes, a familiar face walked into the room.

John Watson looked about him, showing the same disbelief that Sherlock and Alex had done. He raised his hands to signal his confusion and Sherlock and Alex just shrugged. Despite his powers of deduction, Sherlock was clueless. Suddenly Alex felt, and she was sure John too felt, not concerned about their 'inferior minds.'

John sat between Sherlock and Alex, but closer to Alex. She shuffled nearer to the arm rest to allow the doctor some room. He looked about him, then to Sherlock's groin, moving back a bit to get a closer look. Alex was sure he was also wondering if Sherlock was wearing anything underneath.

He suddenly turned his head away and then to Alex, questioning with his eyebrows as if she would know if he was at least wearing underwear. He looked back towards the window, but was clearly not looking out of it.

"Are you wearing any pants?" He asked.

"No." Answered the consulting detective.

"Ok." John replied.

All three of them sat in silence for a bit, their faces staring at one another quizzically. Despite the ridiculousness of the situation, Alex found it rather amusing now. A detective, a doctor and a fiction writer in Buckingham Palace, the detective naked in a sheet and the other two in very casual gear. In realisation of this, they all burst into fits of laughter.

"Oh, Buckingham Palace!" John said, slapping his hands on his legs.

"Just as OTT as I thought it would be." Alex said. The boys laughed.

"Don't know about you, Alex, but I am seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ashtray!" They laughed some more.

"What are we doing here, you two, seriously what?" John asked.

"I don't know." Sherlock and Alex said in unison.

"Here to see the Queen?" John asked, looking at Sherlock and then at Alex. Just as he spoke, Alex saw another body enter the room. Dressed in a black suit, white shirt and tie, the tall figure of Mycroft Holmes appeared to Alex's left. John was looking at Alex and couldn't see him, but the man's younger brother had. Turning to his friends, Sherlock announced his older brother's presence.

"Oh, apparently yes!" This sent them all into another fit of giggles. Sherlock's laugh was devilishly deep and had a dark quality to it. Alex had never heard him laugh so heartily and she wondered how long it would be before she heard it again. She had heard John laugh several times before. His was higher in pitch and rather warming.

"Just for once, can you three behave like grown-ups?" Mycroft said gravely as he approached them.

"We solve crimes, I blog about it, she writes about it and he forgets his pants, so I wouldn't hold up too much hope."

The subject of the man who had entered the flat that morning was the topic of the following conversation between Sherlock and Mycroft. Mycroft had said that it involved a hiker and a backfire, which both men had been able to deduce accurately. Mycroft from seeing the police report and Sherlock from investigating it. John looked at Alex, confused. Once again, he was befuddled by the Holmes' brothers' uncanny ability to deduce, and he wondered how on Earth could both of them be so good at it. Did they learn it at private school? Was it in their genes? Neither John or Alex could be certain.

Mycroft then picked up the pile of clothes on the table holding them out to Sherlock, who declined to take them. It would have been rather difficult for him to do so, considering his arms were just as encased in white cotton as his long body.

"We are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British Nation. Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on!" Mycroft ordered. Sherlock avoided eye contact and still donned the 'schoolboy' persona.

"What for?"

"For your client." Mycroft said. Sherlock arose from his seat to meet his brother's eyes.

"And my client is…?"

"Illustrious, in the extreme." Said another man who entered confidently, clearly a government official, who had been listening to the conversation. He continued his entrance speech.

"And remaining, if I may say so, entirely anonymous. Mycroft!" He said as he turned to the older brother. They greeted each other as old friends, and Mycroft apologised for the appearance of his little brother. Harry then greeted John and commended him over his blog. He then shook Alex's hand and remarked how her novel was extremely well written and moving. Alex thanked him, blushing slightly. Harry turned to Sherlock, and instead of greeting him, he voiced how Sherlock somehow looked taller in his photographs.

"I take the precaution of a good coat and short friends. Mycroft, I don't do anonymous clients. I'm used to mystery at one end of my cases, both ends is too much work. Good morning." And he turned to leave, only to be stopped in his tracks by Mycroft who promptly placed his foot onto the trail of white sheet that Sherlock had left behind him.

As expected, the sheet fell from the detective's shoulders and down his back. He grabbed it just in time before anything else went on show. Alex and John had prepared to come to Sherlock's rescue if he needed it.

"This is of national importance! Grow up!" Mycroft barked, reciting those two familiar words again.

"Get off my sheet!" Sherlock shouted.

"Or you'll what?" Mycroft asked.

"Or, I'll just walk away." Sherlock answered – definitely not joking. Alex could just imagine him doing that, although she didn't want to imagine it too much.

"I'll let you." Mycroft said. He told us earlier to grow up and here he is trying to embarrass his baby brother in Buckingham Palace, Alex thought. John stepped towards Mycroft.

"Boys, please. Not here." He said. Mycroft appeared to take note, although there were not many people whom he took note from.

"Who. Is. My. CLIENT!" Sherlock shouted angrily.

"Take a look at where you're standing and make a deduction, you are to be engaged by the highest in the land and for God's sake! Put your clothes on!" Mycroft was desperate now.

Sherlock took a deep breath and realised that it was the Queen herself who was his client. But given how busy she would be, Harry would be her stand in.

Sherlock turned around and gathered up his sheet.

"Fine. Is there somewhere I can get dressed?" He asked.

Harry approached him and gestured to his right, and Sherlock disappeared behind the door, leaving Alex and John in Mycroft's company. Tea was ordered and Mycroft insisted that it be left to brew and not be poured until his brother returned.

Sherlock took only two minutes to get dressed in his all black suit and join the party on the sofa. He eyed Mycroft with discontentment and watched as he poured tea like an expert, his wrist cocked at a perfect angle.

"I'll be mother." Mycroft said, smiling at Harry.

"And there is our whole childhood in a nutshell…" Sherlock said to his brother, who was not impressed. Alex nudged him, and Sherlock responded with a small "hmph" sound, moving an inch away from her.

Harry and Mycroft then informed the three of them why they had been summoned. A woman called Irene Adler, who actually called herself The Woman professionally who was a self-employed dominatrix. Mycroft had mockingly told Sherlock not to be alarmed that it was to do with sex. Sherlock declared that sex didn't alarm him, to which his lovely brother taunted him, asking how would he know. Sherlock was visibly angered by this remark. Mycroft went on to say that Miss Adler had caused a scandal within the Royal Family and Sherlock very quickly deduced that she had in her possession some compromising photographs. He asked of whom.

"A person of significance to my employer." Harry said. He seemed not only evasive, but as if he was sworn to secrecy as to whom it was, even though Her Majesty The Queen had specifically asked that Sherlock take the case.

"You can't tell us anything?" John asked. Mycroft thought for a second.

"I can tell you it's a young person. A young female person." He had a smile on his face as he spoke, which was mirrored by Sherlock, John and Alex.

Sherlock then deduced that the photographs were of both Miss Adler and the 'young female' member of the Royal family, and would show them together and in a number of compromising scenarios. This most certainly showed why the monarch was trusting Sherlock Holmes with such a scandal that required absolute discretion. Alex felt privileged and pleased that the Queen had entrusted both her and John Watson too. Sherlock, however, didn't see the point in taking the case.

"Pay her. Now, and in full. As Miss Adler remarks on her masthead: 'Know when you are beaten.'"

However, Irene Adler was not after money or material gain. She simply wished to pitch her power against the Royal Family, most likely just to cause trouble and see how much she could get away with. This interested and intrigued Sherlock. He asked Mycroft to send him the address by text and he was certain he would have the photographs by that afternoon. Any other person would be considered overconfident. But Alex had seen Sherlock defy the impossible before and she was sure he could do it again.

He advised he would need equipment and asked Harry for a box or matches or his cigarette lighter. John and Alex looked at one another, once again oblivious to the detective's methods.

"I don't smoke." Harry answered.

"No, I know you don't, but your employer does." Alex's mouth fell open. This was something she had not anticipated and John shared her thoughts.

"We've been able to keep people successfully in the dark about this little fact, Mr Holmes."

"I'm not the commonwealth." Sherlock remarked as he took the lighter from Harry.

"And that's as modest as he gets. Pleasure to meet you." John answered, eager to follow Sherlock out of the palace. Alex decided to show more politeness than the boys and shook both Mycroft's and Harry's hands. She felt a compulsion to apologise for her friend's conduct, but realised that it was not her who needed to.

"Laters!" Sherlock called as he departed. This was definitely a word that would grate on his brother. Alex couldn't help but giggle.

During the cab ride back to 221b (Mycroft decided to punish his brother for showing up at Buckingham Palace naked in a sheet by not letting him have a free lift home), John couldn't contain his curiosity.

"Ok, the smoking. How did you know?"

"The evidence was right under your nose, John, as ever you see but do not observe." Alex and John were once again waiting for the brilliant deduction from the great detective.

"Observe what?" He asked. Alex leaned forward in her seat opposite Sherlock.

"The ashtray." He said as he slipped the crystal ornament out of this coat and flipped it in the air. They all laughed again.

"You sly bugger!" Alex said. Sherlock smiled at her, and they knew that although there was a challenge ahead, this case was becoming quite good fun.

**Thanks for reading, please leave a review. X**


	18. That Woman

**Next bit of ASIB…**

After re-entering 221b, John was poised and ready for anything and displayed his unshakable calm by reading the newspaper in silence whilst Sherlock rummaged in his room for'a 'disguise'. Alex could hear items of clothes being thrown right across the width of the room. Several times he could be heard muttering "no", "not going to work" and "not the right attire."

After half an hour, Sherlock had decided he was happy with his disguise – he hadn't changed his clothes at all. That man is strange, Alex thought.

"Ok, Alex, I have a task for you when we get there. For that, you'll need to put on a disguise." Alex lit up and arose. John was about to protest, believing it best that Alex was left out before Sherlock stopped him.

"Oh, don't worry, John, I have a very special task for you!"

"That's not what I was going to…" John began before Sherlock once again dominated the situation.

"Go to your flat and get into that unsightly pink and black tracksuit you often wear to the gym."

"Ay?!" Alex asked.

"I'm not going to repeat myself. Please go and do as I ask." Sherlock said as he fiddled with a piece of paper and scissors.

"It's in the wash…" Alex said.

"Then the hideous yellow t-shirt and some other tracksuit bottoms you have lying around, or get the pink one out of the wash, I don't care, just look like you're going out jogging wearing something conspicuously garish."

Alex slapped her thighs and stomped off, wondering why he wanted her to look like a silly jogger and leaving John to deal with the over-excited child. She couldn't help but feel a kind of elation at the prospect of embarking on another case with the boys. She actually enjoyed the cases, despite them being rather brutal and hard to take in. Alex often felt guilty at the feeling of exhilaration. But she noticed how John seemed to come alive and exhibit a pragmatism that rivaled Sherlock's logical reasoning. The latter just thrived on mystery. Maybe she had a knack for this too?

Alex had changed into the yellow t-shirt and found some black lycra trousers and went back to join her friends in their flat. They were both ready and waiting in their coats. Sherlock grinned with amusement at the sight of Alex in her gym clothes, which just made her feel silly.

"Time to go." He said as his phone chimed and he observed the text.

The cab drive to the location didn't take long. They hardly exchanged a word, until John remarked how Sherlock hadn't bothered changing his clothes, to which the detective answered:

"Then it's time to add a splash of colour. Just here, please!" He called to the cabbie.

Sherlock led John and Alex into a quite road with large white buildings. It was quite a nice part of town. The houses and flats in the area undoubtedly cost a fortune.

"Are we here?" John asked as Sherlock made an about-turn in the middle of the road.

"Two streets away but this will do. Stay back, Alex."

"For what? Why does Alex have to stay back?" John asked.

Sherlock turned his head to his right and pointed towards his left cheek.

"Punch me in the face."

John swayed a bit, flickering his eyes to Alex. She too was shocked at this.

"Punch you?" He asked, confused by his friend's request.

"Yes! Punch me. In the face, didn't you hear me?" Sherlock sounded as if John's question was stupid and he should have complied with Sherlock's request without hesitation.

"I always hear punch me in the face when you're speaking, but it's usually subtext."

Alex was about to laugh at this, before she saw Sherlock becoming aggravated. He shuffled on his feet for a second before exclaiming:

"Oh, for God's sakes!"

Sherlock then struck John across his face with his fist without even drawing his arm back to give his friend any kind of warning. John went down instantly, but didn't hit the floor. He got back up in a second. Sherlock shook his hands and breathed out, jumping slightly. He knew what to prepare himself for.

Much harder than Sherlock had punched him, John threw his fist at Sherlock's cheekbone, hitting it right in the most prominent part. His curve was that of an experienced fighter and its power sent the detective to the floor faster than his own punch had caused John to double over.

"Aaah!" John cried as he turned away from Sherlock, flexing his fingers. No doubt the hardness of that man's cheeks were enough to cause the doctor intense pain. Alex rushed forward, not knowing if she wanted to check on John or Sherlock. She opted for the former, not really feeling sorry for Sherlock at all being the one who instigated it.

But, she stopped dead and ran a couple of paces back. Sherlock had got back on his feet, clutching his face but _smiling_ subtly. John had turned back to face him, his face grave.

"Thank you, that was… that was very gah!" Sherlock choked on the last word (which seemed like the word 'good'). The doctor had rushed forward, thrusting his shoulder into Sherlock's abdomen with the force only worthy of a strong soldier.

Sherlock was floored once again. Despite him towering over John and being a man of amazing physical capabilities, John was definitely stronger.

"Guys! Stop it, please!" Alex shouted as Sherlock struggled to get John off him. John was not letting this go. John was not going to let Sherlock forget that he wasn't going to stand for being punched in the face and wouldn't just retaliate by giving one back. It was only a matter of seconds before John demonstrated his superior abilities as a fighter against Sherlock by getting the detective in a headlock, twisted right over so he was bent and close to the ground.

"Ok, I think we're done now, John!" Sherlock croaked with his neck in a tight grip.

"You want to remember, Sherlock, I was a soldier. I killed people!"

"You were a doctor!" Sherlock retorted, trying to get John's strong grip from his neck, sporting a lovely great red gash on his face. The very splash of colour he had mentioned earlier. John didn't have a mark on his cheek. Not even a slight flush of red.

"I had bad days!" John cried before he released the detective aggressively, throwing him away from John so that they were both once face to face again, red and out of breath. They stared at one another for a while. Alex didn't know what to think.

"What the bloody hell was that all for?" Alex shouted at them. Sherlock walked towards her in such a predatory manner she moved back, not knowing what he was going to do.

"Relax! I'm not going to put a mark on you." Alex wanted to trust him, but found it rather difficult to do so as he advance on her with his hands out, palms turned into one another clearly showing that he was going to do something to her head. Alex winced as his long, cold fingers entwined themselves into her hair, which was back in a ponytail.

"What are you doing?!" She cried, trying to shake him off.

"You need to look a bit rougher…" He said as he tossed her blonde hair about. The layered pieces twisted and feathery. Alex tried to straighten it before the detective clasped her wrists, taking them back down to her sides.

"No, you need to look like that." He ordered. Alex rolled her eyes and obeyed.

"Would you mind telling us both exactly what this is all for?" John asked. Sherlock smiled at Alex before he turned to the doctor, mischief dancing in his eyes.

"You," he said as he approached John, "have just witnessed me being attacked, and you," Sherlock said revolving his body to Alex, "are the jogger who had been set upon by three men. I got punched and mugged trying to defend you. Hence the disgusting outfit."

"Excuse me!" Alex cried out.

"It's more likely that you would draw attention to yourself as a jogger wearing something truly ghastly." Sherlock turned on his heels and strode away, leaving John and Alex staring at each other. Mirroring their actions in perfect synchronisation, they shrugged and grudgingly followed the mad man as he flounced down the road as if it were his personal catwalk.

Two right turns and they approached a house at the end of a terrace of immense dwelling, each white with black doors and railings. A very posh part of the city. It reminded Alex of the place in which Mycroft's club was situated.

As if nothing could stop him, Sherlock approached the door, but somehow seemed to lose his unflappable confidence as he did. Actually, he seemed distressed. He scratched his forehead and shifted about a lot on his feet, looking around him as if…scared. Sherlock Holmes – scared? He then hit the doorbell hard, taking a step back from the door after he had done so, his face staring straight up to a speaker. Then, a female voice sounded through it.

"Hello?"

"Oh, um… Sorry to disturb you. Um. I've just been attacked by a gang who were trying to attack a young lady and I think they, they took my wallet and, erm, and my phone, um, please could you help me?" Sherlock was panicking and sounding more posh than usual. John and Alex stood beside him, knowing he was faking it, but by God – it was a damn good fake. There were even tears streaming down his face. He produced a small white handkerchief from his coat pocket and gripped it firmly. The lady on the other side paused for a second before responding.

"I can phone the police, if you want?" She seemed as if this was the only option to get rid of the man.

"Thank you! Thank you! Could you, please? Er, would you mind if I just waited here just until they come? Thank you, thank you so much."

With that, he clasped the handkerchief to his face and sobbed. It was only then that Alex and John both fell into character.

"I saw it all happen It's ok, I'm a doctor." John said as they all entered.

"He was defending me from the gang when it happened." Alex said as she entered. She was glad they had walked to the location from where Sherlock and John gave each other a good smack – her face was flushed and she was rather hot in her lycra top and trousers. It certainly looked like she had been running.

"Now, have you got a first aid kit?" John asked the lady, whom Alex could now see had straight strawberry blonde hair, tall, yet petite and very well dressed as if she were a PA or secretary.

The lady said that the first aid kit was in the kitchen and she led Sherlock and Alex to a room on the left. It was behind a large wooden door. A very bright white and gold living room with bay windows. Alex then noticed that the 'disguise' Sherlock used was a single item he had stealthily placed seconds before ringing the doorbell – a vicar's collar.

Alex sat beside Sherlock on the cream sofa opposite a large fireplace with a mirror above it.

"You ok?" Alex said to him. She genuinely meant it, although she knew that it would have been a natural thing to say if their little acting stint were real. Sherlock nodded, and as soon as he heard a voice calling from the corridor, he pressed the handkerchief once again to the gash on his face.

"Hello, sorry to hear that you've been hurt. I don't think Kate caught your names?"

"I'm so sorry, I'm…" Sherlock turned to the sound of the voice at the door, just as its owner stepped into view. He stopped speaking as soon as he saw her, and Alex could definitely see why. The woman at the door was completely naked. Nothing on at all, apart from a full face of rather over the top make up and curly brown hair pinned back behind her head. She dipped her head as if to prompt him to say his name. She then looked to Alex, before turning back to Sherlock and smiling with blood-red lips. Alex couldn't help but look her up and down and she was sure that Sherlock had done the same thing, despite not being a bit interested in women.

"Oh, it's always hard to remember an alias when you've had a fright. Isn't it"

She wandered in, her slim form pale propped up by six inch heels. How on Earth could she walk so easily on them?

"Excuse me… what the hell?" Alex said as she approached them both uninhibitedly. This was undoubtedly Irene Adler, a dominatrix with plenty of self and body confidence. She was certainly beautiful, but the make up just seemed to act like a mask, covering up the real woman underneath. Very much like Sherlock with his cold persona.

"Yes? Is there a problem?" She asked Alex, who really didn't know what to say.

"There now." Irene said as she pressed her smooth naked legs up against Sherlock's. He reclined in the chair and somehow managed to keep eye contact with her. She pulled the collar out from his shirt.

"We're both defrocked. Mr Sherlock Holmes. I take it you're Alex Price? I must say I read your book with much relish." She smiled, turning her eyes to Alex, running them over her yellow lycra top. She knew that the 'jogger' look was fake.

"Miss Adler, I presume?" Sherlock sounded so calm and collected, but certainly not pleased. His guard was up. A naked woman to him seemed more like trouble rather than a disarming tactic. Alex was still dumbfounded, trying hard not to look at her. Irene's leg was far too close to Alex for her liking and as stunning as her body was, Alex was increasingly becoming uncomfortable. She edged away from both of them. Neither of them seemed to notice.

"Look at those cheekbones. I could cut myself slapping that face. Would you like me to try?" The language of the dominatrix, Alex thought. Irene then gripped the vicar's collar between her teeth and sarcastically waved her index and middle fingers at Alex. This was it for her. She shifted herself so she was facing the bay window rolling her eyes. That woman was definitely trouble!

As if on perfect cue before the situation became extremely awkward, John Watson appeared at the door. A bowl of warm water and a napkin in his hands. As expected, he went into a state of shock, not anticipating the notorious Miss Adler to present herself in such a way.

"I've missed something, haven't I?" He asked with a touch of sarcasm. Irene extracted the collar from her teeth. It was amazing that the thing didn't have a smudge of red lipstick on it.

"Please, sit down. Or if you'd like some tea I can call the maid." She moved away to the armchair adjacent to the sofa. As she did, Alex and Sherlock got a good look of the back of the woman, which was just as flawless and perfectly sculpted as the parts they had already seen. Irene positioned herself so that her breasts were completed covered by her arms, with her legs crossed, the free foot swinging slightly, mocking the detective and the writer.

"I had some at the palace." Sherlock answered.

"I know." Irene said, smiling at both Sherlock and Alex.

"Clearly…" He retorted.

"I had some tea too, in case anyone's interested." John said awkwardly.

"Same here." Alex joined in. She really didn't want to be there.

Sherlock Holmes was eyeing Irene Adler intensively, obviously trying to deduce her, but the squinting of his eyes and his subsequent looks towards Alex and John (Alex knew that he was testing his deductive skills on them both – the look on his face whenever he did this was unmistakable) showed that this was apparently impossible. He then turned his attention back to Irene. Alex then realised why this sly woman had taken her clothes off before meeting Sherlock. It wasn't a sexual advance. It was to throw him off. Even the world's best detective and serious workaholic couldn't help but be surprised and distracted when a naked woman appeared before him when he least expected it.

"Do you know the big problem with a disguise, Mr Holmes? However hard you try it's always a self-portrait."

"You think I'm a vicar with a bleeding face."

"No, I think you're damaged, delusional and believe in a higher power, in your case it's yourself. And, your disguise is clearly not one of your own. He obviously told you what to wear, my dear." Irene said directly to Alex.

"Hmm, and somebody loves you." She went on, returning her focus to the detective. "If I had to punch that face, I'd avoid your nose and teeth too." This was meant for John, obviously, who laughed satirically.

"Ha ha, could you put something on, please?" He asked sincerely, "er…anything at all. A napkin?"

"Why, are you feeling exposed?" Irene said to John.

"I don't think John knows where to look." Sherlock said, rising and taking hold of his coat.

"No, I think he knows exactly where." Irene got up and went right up to John, who clearly had some difficulty keeping his eyes looking at hers. His face was a picture of real effort and a genuine attempt at being polite. Alex too found this difficult, but particularly now as she could no longer see Irene's face, and her rear view was hard to ignore. Sherlock held out his coat to her without looking, who took it grudgingly.

"I'm not sure about you…" She said to Sherlock. He crossed Alex and strode towards the fireplace.

"If I want to look at naked women I borrow Alex's portfolio or John's laptop." The latter said party now had no problem diverting his eyes.

"You _do_ borrow my laptop."

"I confiscate it." Sherlock said.

"Excuse me? Alex said. "My portfolio?"

"Yes, I noticed the sketch on your desk after I told you about the aluminium crutch case, and the large folder next to it. You obviously sketch nudes from photography books, so I had a flick through when you were in the bathroom." Alex was now the one feeling exposed.

"You've been through my portfolio…" This was more of an angry accusation than a question.

"Well, never mind, we've got better things to talk about." Irene injected. "Now tell me, I need to know. How was it done? The hiker with the bashed in head. How was he killed?" Irene said as she slipped her shoes off. Alex then thought that she didn't know and wanted to, even though there were other things to do.

"That's not why I'm here…" Sherlock said, a bewildered expression in his eyes.

"No no no, you're here for the photographs, but that's not going to happen and since we're here just chatting anyway."

"How do you know about that?" Alex asked. "That case only came in this morning."

"Yeah, it hasn't been on the news yet, how _do_ you know about it?" John said as he sat next to Irene.

"I know one of the policemen – well I know what he likes." Irene answered.

"Oh God, don't put images in my head!" Alex said, her imagination involuntarily conjuring pictures.

"Sorry about that." Irene quipped at her.

"Oh. And you like policemen?" John asked, clearly flirting.

"I like detective stories _and_ detectives. Brainy's the new sexy."

"Bloody hell…" Alex said under her breath. She had moved to the spot beside the sofa, next to a halogen lamp, not wanting to witness what was going on. When Sherlock next spoke it was somewhat incoherent.

"Positionofthecar…" He shook his head, correcting his speech. "Uh, position of the car relative to the hiker at the time of the backfire, that and the fact that the death blow was to the back of the head, that's all you need to know."

"Ok, tell me, how was he murdered?" Irene asked.

"What's it to you?" Alex asked Irene, becoming more and more offended by her brash manner. Irene just rolled her eyes at the younger woman. Sherlock ignored them.

"He wasn't."

"You don't think it was murder?" Irene enquired.

"I know it wasn't."

"How?"

"The same way I know that the victim was an excellent sportsman, recently returned from foreign travel and that the photographs I'm looking for are in this room."

Alex looked about her. She couldn't see anything or where they could be concealed. Or they could be inside the sofa? Behind the mirror, in the fireplace or even under the carpet. But would someone as clever as Irene have them in obvious places?

"Ok, but how?" Irene asked Sherlock, who was pacing from right to left in front of the three of them.

"So, they _are_ in this room." Oh, Sherlock Holmes is a smart man, thought Alex. At least Irene wasn't clever enough to deceive him. "Thank you. John, man the door, let no one in. Alex it's best that you leave this room, too."

With that, Alex and John vacated the area quickly. Alex was beginning to get exasperated by Irene.

"God, who does _that woman_ think she is?!" Alex hissed at John, who was looking around the lobby of the large house.

"Well, she _is_ quite smart, I'll give her that. Alex, could you possibly have a look upstairs, see if you can find anything that would give away the identity or evidence of the 'young female person' having been here and… enjoyed Miss Adler's company?" John smirked.

Alex crept up the mahogany stairs and walked over the renaissance style landing, seeing more stairs ascending up into the dizzy heights of the grand building. She peered into some of the rooms, but they were just normal guest rooms. She heard a thud coming from one of the rooms further upstairs and went to investigate, expecting to just find 'Kate.'

But… as she rose further, she heard sound of heavy running feet followed by the bleeping of a fire alarm resonating through the air.

"What the…"

Before she could comprehend what was happening, she was surrounded by three men in dark suits with guns, one with a silencer, grabbing at her and dragging her down the stairs. Alex started to scream, but one of them clasped a hand over her mouth. She struggled against the grip and almost got free, but was hoisted up by one of the men, who caused her so much pain in her ribs that she found it hard to breathe even through her nose. If she had panicked, she would have passed out from the restriction of her breathing.

A shot from the silent gun was next, killing the noise of the fire alarm. Alex was dragged to the centre of the lobby, where she saw John with his arms up.

"Thank you." John said to the men, calm despite the pressure.

"You're welcome. You." One of the men said directly to Alex. His accent was American.

"Keep it shut, do you understand?" Alex nodded. She was truly frightened now, her heart going ten to the dozen. The hand over her mouth released its grip. Alex took a couple of breaths to calm herself and feeling the pressure on her ribs alleviate. The men were completely silent, listening into the conversation going on next door. After only a few seconds, a nod between the three men signaled the go ahead to enter, and with their guns brandishing high, they pushed their ways in, with Alex and John at gunpoint.

"Hands behind your head, on the floor, keep it still!" The man who was clearly the leader approached Sherlock who was by the fireplace. The mirror was in a higher position, revealing a wall safe behind its previous position.

"Sorry, Sherlock." John said as he fell to the floor in front of the sofa, his arms in the air. Alex followed suit, her hands shaking more than the doctor's.

"Miss Adler on the floor." She obeyed

"Don't you want me on the floor too?" Sherlock asked. He had placed his hands either side of his head, his voice deep and almost growling.

The leader was convinced that Irene had told Sherlock the safe combination, but Sherlock repeatedly protested that he did not. Irene tried to help, but received a stern warning that one more word would cost Irene her life.

"Mr Archer, at the count of three, shoot Doctor Watson, then on the count of four, Miss Price." Alex was almost crying now. She could see John's face out of the corner of her eye. He had crouched down lower, pale and terrified.

"I don't know the code." Sherlock was now in a state of real panic.

"One…"

"I don't know the code!"

"Two…"

"She didn't tell me I DON'T KNOW IT!"

"I'm prepared to believe you any second now. Three…"

Sherlock had turned briefly to Irene, and just in the nick of time, he responded.

"No, stop!"

He turned to the safe, slowly and cautious he hovered his fingers over the keypad. Alex couldn't see what he typed in, but it sounded like it was six digits in groups of twos. A click. Irene smiled, Sherlock's head lowered slightly, clearly relieved.

"Thank you, Mr Holmes, open it, please." Sherlock obliged. Again, Alex couldn't be certain but there was definitely a silent communication between him and Irene.

"Vatican Cameos!" Sherlock interjected. These two words had been decided on beforehand as code to get down low or use the opportunity to disarm an opponent. Alex and John curled up on the floor, holding into one another. Irene had no problem overpowering the man with the gun aimed at her head. She was in a perfect position to cause the man to double over in pain and swipe the gun from his hands.

"Do you mind?" Alex heard Sherlock ask Irene. Alex raised her head as John checked the pulse of the man who had a gun aimed at them both.

"Not at all." Irene responded, whacking the man in the floor across his temple so that he collapsed, unconscious and no longer dangerous.

"Thank you. You were very observant. I'm flattered." Irene said to Sherlock.

John and Alex were confused by this, but Alex was more disgusted by Irene's pointless attempts at flirting so outrageously given the events that just occurred. Sherlock was not in the mood for sweet talks.

"There'll be more of them, they will be keeping an eye on the building." Sherlock and John abruptly left the room.

"Don't bother trying to get under his skin, Irene. It won't work." Alex said, finally getting her breath back.

"Who said that I'm trying?" Irene said back. She smirked deviously, her blood red lips stretched so they looked like scarlet silk.

They heard four gunshots coming from outside, obviously fired from the gun that Sherlock had seized from the American man he had disarmed and had removed the silencer.

"Gotta check the house for that 'Kate' woman, see if she's alright." John said, running towards the stairs, taking two at a time. Alex checked over the ground floor rooms, she couldn't find her. It only took a minute to regain her full composure, although she couldn't bring herself to look into the bright living room again. No doubt there would be blood seeping over the carpet from hers and John's would be murderer.

John called to Sherlock, who came running up the stairs, followed by Irene Adler who was trying to keep up with Sherlock as if she couldn't let him out of her sight. Alex waited at the bottom of the stairs, believing that they would come down soon. But only John appeared. Sherlock and Irene upstairs and were once again alone. It seemed as if them being alone at times was their aim. Alex wondered if John had also noticed that. Maybe he too had noticed that Irene and Sherlock shared some traits and the little spark between them, however, strange it was.

"Just checking the back door. Wait here, Alex." John was out of sight in seconds. Alex listened as hard as she could to what was going on upstairs.

"What is that?!" She heard Sherlock cry out. A couple of thuds, knees and hands hitting the floor.

"Sherlock!" Alex called as she rushed up the stairs, going against orders.

"Drop it! I. SAID. DROP IT!" She heard Irene say, a thumping noise vibrated with each harsh word.

"Alex!" John shouted behind her. Alex had not yet reached the room.

"I said to stay downstairs!"

"I think Sherlock's in trouble!" Alex said. This took all of John's attention away. He pushed past the writer and ran into the room where Sherlock and Irene were.

As Alex entered, she saw Sherlock lying, writhing and thrashing his arms and legs on the floor, unable to speak, looking disorientated. Irene looked on, smug and uncaring with a black leather riding crop in her hand.

"Goodnight, Mr Sherlock Holmes."

"You bitch! What did you do to him?" Alex was ready to go for this woman.

"Hey now! It's fine, he'll sleep for a few hours. Make sure he doesn't choke on his own vomit, it makes for a very unattractive corpse."

"You really are a piece of work, aren't you, Irene Adler." Alex growled at that woman.

"Oh, I know, sweetie! He'll be fine, I've used it on loads of my friends." Irene said as she went into the en suite bathroom, sitting on the window sill still in Sherlock's coat.

"Sherlock, can you hear me?" John said to his friend as he crouched beside him.

"You know, I was wrong about him. He _did_ know where to look." Irene muttered from the bathroom.

"For what? What are you talking about?" John asked her. Alex was trying to get a response out of Sherlock but was failing. Sirens were approaching and Alex knew that they would be in safe hands with Irene hopefully behind bars soon.

"The key-code to my safe."

"What was it?" John asked.

"Shall I tell him?" Irene sadistically asked a speechless Sherlock mockingly.

"My measurements."

With that answer, Irene threw herself out of the window backwards. John immediately went to look for her, but could not find her. That woman was gone.

**Phew, finally finished! This took ages. Hope it's ok, love to you all. As we all know, **_**that woman**_** will be back. **


	19. Not Making A Lot Of Sense

**This is my version of what happened when Sherlock was drugged by Irene – what Lestrade would have filmed! With Alex, of course.**

Alex rushed towards the four-poster bed and grabbed one of the feather filled pillows on the queen sized bed. Slipping her hand under the detective's head gently, she placed the pillow under it. Sherlock was still wriggling, trying to move, trying to stand. Trying to do anything but lie on the floor helpless. John had run downstairs to let the police in who were stampeding loudly up the wooden stairs.

"Shh, Sherlock, relax. There's no point attempting to get up, you've been drugged, you need to sleep it off." Alex said, rubbing his arm soothingly. Sherlock didn't listen. It was a battle between the effects of the drug and the tremendous brain of the consulting detective. At the moment they were neck and neck, although the brain was beginning to fail. Sherlock's breathing was erratic and his eyes red with the effort of staying open.

Alex didn't bother putting him in the recovery position. He'd either protest or get right out of it, plus there was nothing wrong with his breathing. Alex was certain that he would collapse any minute from sheer exhaustion.

"Aaagh!" She yelled. Sherlock's arm thrust up into the air and struck Alex across the face just missing her right eye.

"I said relax!" She clasped his hand and held it down on the floor. This was no use, and in fact, it had the opposite effect.

"I… I… neeeeeeeeee-eeeds tsoooo…" He slurred. His flailing almost caused Alex a wrist sprain.

The police came into the room with medical staff milling round. They pushed Alex out of the way so aggressively that she fell back against the solid oak post of the bed, taking the impact in her spine and head. Christ, it hurts, she thought to herself. Not one of the medical staff was bothered. They were swarming around Sherlock with John pushing his way through to help.

"Here." A familiar voice sounded. Lestrade was by Alex's side holding his hand out to her. She obliged and struggled to her feet.

"You ok?" He asked. Alex nodded but then pointed to the man in the middle of the room. They both stood there in amazement. None of them, even John and the medical team could comprehend why Sherlock was _laughing_ so much.

"He's fine, he doesn't need medical attention." John said as he barged past one of the staff to hoist his best friend to his feet.

"Can someone help me get him downstairs, please?" John demanded to whoever was listening. Instinctively, Alex reached forward, wrapping an arm around Sherlock's waist and grasping his limp arm.

"Downs-stars? Uppp-stars?" Sherlock muttered. His legs were like jelly. There was absolutely no point in him trying to walk.

"Ok, let's try this." John said. He slipped his arms underneath's Sherlock's and gestured for someone to grab his legs. Alex held one of them and Lestrade the other and after a count of three, Sherlock was lifted clean off the floor.

"Err… w-why? Why you..?" He stuttered.

"Need to get you home." John told him.

It was a nightmare getting the man down the stairs. Alex stumbled a couple of times and was sure she would be bruised the next day. The smack in the face and the fall against the bed had already caused her enough discomfort. Still, she wasn't blaming Sherlock. It was _that_ woman.

Once in the police car (there was no need for an ambulance), John and Alex positioned themselves either side of the detective in the back of the car, keeping him upright and making sure he didn't get a neck sprain from the weight of his head lulling from side to side and up and down. He giggled a few times, still fighting the urge to sleep. Lestrade had chosen at the last minute to be in the front passenger seat and not long into the car journey, Alex could see why. He had extracted his phone and she was sure that the DI was filming Sherlock!

"W…what's zissss?" He said before thrusting a finger right past Alex's nose and hitting the window. Alex had to jerk her head back to avoid another injury. She was becoming more and more pissed off by the minute and although _that_ woman had been the cause, she made up her mind to let Sherlock know that she had once again sustained injuries from 'detective work.'.

The window was lashed with long streaks of raindrops. Neither Alex nor John could be certain what he was actually pointing at so John went for the obvious answer.

"It's a window, Sherlock." John said patronisingly.

"Oh…"

"Sherlock, keep your limbs to yourself, please." Alex huffed as she took his hand and placed it on his lap, holding it in place. He wriggled free and placed a few feeble slaps on his thigh.

"Wassss that alllll about?" He said slowly.

"What was what about?" Alex asked.

"Nufff- fin!" He answered, tilting his head back.

Within minutes, he was asleep. His head had tipped over to his left and narrowly missed colliding with John's temple as he did. Sherlock was asleep on the doctor's shoulder, snoring lightly. Alex observed John's face, which really was a picture. Humiliated and exasperated, he tolerated the intrusion into his personal space given the circumstances but would gladly relinquish the responsibility of being the 'prop' to someone else. He looked over at Alex, silently asking her to take over.

"Absolutely not." She whispered. John sighed loudly, looking down at the mass of curls. Accepting his fate, he relaxed, allowing Sherlock to sink a bit lower. Putting a final note on it, he patted his friend's hand. Alex knew that there was a harder task to come – getting him out of the car, up the seventeen steps to the flat and into bed.

"Lestrade, please can you help us get him into the flat? We'll, like, get him into bed and stuff, but this is a three man job." John asked the DI, who seemed aggrieved but acquiesced.

Alex was sure she could hear Sherlock humming in his sleep. He even seemed to wake a couple of times but was in a trance-like state.

"Therrrrrrrrrrrr wom'n. Cam fffff'nnn." He uttered once in the flat. John and Alex tried to hold him upright but they ended up just dragging him.

The commotion had awoken Mrs Hudson. She came rushing after them, arms in the air and her voice as high as it would be if she had been breathing helium.

"Oh, poor thing! What happened, John?"

"He's been drugged, Mrs Hudson." He answered. John and Alex had got him into the kitchen by now and paused for breath.

"God, he's heavy!" Alex said to John.

"Yeah, and it doesn't help that he's a bloody giant!"

"Would you like me to help?" Mrs Hudson said, immediately rushing in and wrapping an arm around Sherlock.

"No, thank you!" Alex and John said in unison.

Within a matter of seconds, they had summoned enough energy to create a short burst of strength to get the large man to his room behind the kitchen. They huffed as they practically dropped Sherlock onto the bed. He had pretty much fully woken up but was clearly still dazed. He swayed , his body wanting to rest but the man inside fighting the urge. There was clearly something he really wanted to say.

"Th f'n. _Th f'n!_" Sherlock cried at John.

"What the hell's he talking about?" John asked Alex. She shrugged her shoulders. He wasn't making sense at all. Just as Alex was plumping Sherlock's pillows and John began to remove his shoes, Sherlock flopped back over the bed, his arms dangling behind him and there he was; having another giggle fit. Alex couldn't deny it was rather funny but at the same time unnerving. She had heard Sherlock laugh in that one day more than the three and a half months she had known him.

John had taken off Sherlock's shoes and belt by that point.

"Should we put him in his PJs?" Alex asked. She wasn't sure if she wanted to, not just because she didn't want see the man in the altogether but given their arduous task of hauling his body around, she didn't like the idea of heaving him this way and that to change his clothes.

"Err… no, he'll be fine. Let's turn him round."

Alex took Sherlock's long legs and positioned them at the end of the bed whilst John lifted the heavy torso so that Sherlock's head was on the large fluffy pillows. They covered him lightly with the sheets but he was still determined to stay awake.

"Go to sleep, Sherlock." Alex becoming the mother figure again. It astounded her as to how much this tall, thirty-something genius swung between grown man with superior intelligence and an ego to match, to an immature, whining child. But, he _had_ been drugged. As if on cue, Sherlock closed his eyes and was instantly dead to the world.

"Oh, thank God. A few hours peace at last!" John said as they left Sherlock's bedroom. They were both starving and Alex went back to her own flat to make some dinner and bring it up to the upper flat. She also couldn't wait to get out of her running gear and back into jeans and a t-shirt.

"Oh, shit, I've just remembered!" Alex exclaimed with her mouth still full of spag bol.

"What?"

"Sherlock's coat! That woman was still wearing it when she jumped! His phone must have been in it."

"The police must have found it, cos I saw it when I last went to check on Sherlock. Lestrade and some police officers came round while you were making this, so I assume that they recovered it and put it in Sherlock's room. It's behind his door." John answered.

"Oh. Funny I didn't see it when we were putting him to bed. But then, apparently people like you and I see but do not observe! You know, Sherlock will probably think that _she_ brought the coat back." Alex said.

"Mmm, most likely. Will that be the drug talking or something else?"

"What do you mean?" Alex asked.

"Well, was it just me or did you see something different about Sherlock when he was in Irene's presence?"

Alex thought about that. He certainly was surprised and somewhat shocked at not just the fact that Irene was starkers when she first saw him but also that she was as bold as brass, clever and highly capable. A bit like Sherlock.

"I think he met his match." Alex said after a minute.

"Me too. I actually do believe she's made a lasting impression on him. So, he may think she has personally returned his coat because of either the effect of the drug, or that he _wants_ her to have come here to give it back."

Alex nodded slowly. They both understood that of all women that Sherlock had ever met, Irene would always be _the_ woman.

Alex was rather disappointed when she thought about this. She had hoped that one day Sherlock would return Molly Hooper's feelings. Or, at least, start treating her with respect. Hell, Sherlock had known Molly longer than he had known Alex, but he appeared to show Alex more respect Molly. He would act like such an arse to both, but more so to the sweet little pathologist. After pondering this, she wondered if Molly would ever 'grow a pair' like many people would say. Metaphorically speaking. Why couldn't she just tell the man where to get off if he continued to treat her in such an obnoxious way?

John and Alex had both agreed that the only woman to be a worthy opponent to Sherlock was Irene Adler. The only man was Moriaty. Sherlock, Irene and Moriaty. Three profoundly intelligent, self-sufficient and capable people. Alex certainly didn't like Irene and from what John and Sherlock had said about Moriaty, the man was an out and out psychopath.

Sherlock was different. He was inexplicably likeable. An absolute git at times, but his heart was definitely in the right place. Alex remembered the 'high-functioning sociopath' label he had attached to himself and how ridiculous it seemed. The terms sociopath and psychopath were no longer being used as medical terminology. She had read somewhere from research into a novel that it was now referred to as Antisocial Personality Disorder. She wasn't sure on the spectrum where Sherlock fitted, or Irene, as _she_ certainly didn't appear antisocial. Quite the opposite. She seemed gregarious and positively charming, despite her devious ways.

A few hours after they had put the detective to bed, John had settled into a book, The Da Vinci Code, whilst Alex started reading Dracula on her KOBO. She was getting rather frustrated with the journey to Castle Dracula. The first part of the novel was unnecessarily long and she wished Jonathan Harker would just skip to the point that he arrived there.

There was a sudden noise from Sherlock's bedroom at around ten o clock that night.

"John? John! Alex!"

The doctor had ran to the bedroom and stood in the doorway as he observed his friend and his current state. Wanting a break from the ridiculously long carriage ride to Transylvania, Alex rose and stopped just behind John.

Sherlock had fallen off the bottom of his bed and was sitting upright on the floor looking confused and dazed.

"You ok?" John asked. Alex could swear he was holding back a laugh, witnessing Sherlock fall off of the bed like an idiot.

"How did I get here?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, I don't suppose you remember much, you weren't making a lot of sense. Oh, I should warn you; I think Lestrade filmed you on his phone." John said as he entered the room. Alex stayed where she was, leaning against the doorframe with her arms folded. Sherlock appeared to completely disregard what John had said.

"Where is she?" He said in partial whisper.

"Where's who?" John asked.

"The woman, that woman." Sherlock was on his feet now. He staggered about with his arms waving all over the place. The drug had clearly not worn off.

"What woman?" John asked. Alex was about to interject as if was obvious whom Sherlock was talking about, but Sherlock answered too quickly and rather loudly.

"_The_ woman! THE WOMAN WOMAN!" At last John understood.

"Oh, Irene Adler? She got away. No one saw her."

Sherlock deeply blinked and walked awkwardly to the open window.

"She wasn't here, Sherlock." John told his friend. Turning round on his heels proved too much for the intoxicated detective and he fell in a heap. But this didn't stop him. He tried crawling to get himself up. Alex was about to intervene but John got there first.

"What are you… no, no, no." John said in a fatherly voice and got hold of Sherlock under his arms. John groaned as he pulled the man up and flopped him down on the bed.

"No. Back to bed. You'll be fine in the morning, just sleep." John said before he patted Sherlock's hip reassuringly and turning to leave the room.

"Arrrrv course I'll be fine. I _am_ fine. I'm _absolutely_ fine!" Sherlock called out in a half dream-like state.

"Yes, you're great. Now, Alex and I'll be next door if you need us."

"Why would I need either of you?" Sherlock asked. John answered as if it were an automated response and was the best answer Alex thought anyone could say to Sherlock's question.

"No reason at all."

Mycroft turned up the next morning at 8am on the dot. Alex was already up and ready to go to the gym. She was only aching mildly despite being flung around the previous day. She had to get away from Baker Street for the day and even though she adored Sherlock and John, Alex knew that _that_ woman would be the subject of conversation. She honestly didn't want to be part of that if she could help it. It was a mild day, a Sunday. The gym would be rather busy but after a rather eventful Saturday, she knew that her usual gym buddies would be there to help her forget it all and have a good time.

Two hours of cardio and weights, a shower and a change of clothes later, she decided to indulge in the gym's in house pub until they were ready to serve up a lovely Sunday roast. With her hair still wet and her mind bored as hell, she took out her KOBO and proceeded to read Dracula again. She had finally got to Castle Dracula and Jonathan had found out that the Count and his three 'brides' were vampires. Tapping her way across the electronic pages, she absent-mindedly mimed along with the song playing the music station on the telly.

She was in a really good place in the story before a voice rudely interrupted her. Throwing a disgusted look to the owner of the person who had uttered her name, her face softened when she saw who it was. None other than Sherlock Holmes, still sporting the red mark on his cheek, but somehow completely cured from the effects of whatever Irene had drugged him with.

"What are you doing here?" Alex asked.

"Just fancied a stroll and thought I'd have a Sunday roast." His tone oozed sarcasm.

"No, you didn't. You thought you'd come and annoy me." Alex turned off her KOBO.

"Well, yes I suppose I did." He invited himself to sit at the table Alex was occupying and turned his expression from patronising to concerned.

"Sorry about that." He said, pointing to her right brow where a small bruise had formed.

"How do you know about that?" Alex asked. Sherlock gave her a look that asked whether she really needed to pose that question. How did Sherlock know anything – The Science Of Deduction.

"Seriously, what are you here for?" Alex asked.

"Got bored with John chatting to his girlfriend on the phone. It was either listen to that, go to the morgue, play the violin, beg Lestrade for a case or come and find you."

"So, why did you opt for the least appealing of those options?" Alex asked.

"Least appealing?" Sherlock repeated as if Alex had said two words of a language he had never heard of.

"Yeah. You love your work, experiments, violin and if I may say so, exploiting the good nature of one Miss Molly Hooper, so coming here to see me would certainly prove to be the 'least appealing' option – next to John flirting with his girlfriend, of course."

Sherlock stared at her dumbfounded. He didn't know whether or not to be offended by her comment about Molly, or intrigued about her observations. He knew what to say to her after a pause.

"That is exactly why I am here, Alex."

"Sorry?"

"That." He said, pointing to her head. "I want to know more about it."

**There, my pretties! Finished. This took so damn long to write and it was such a tedious piece of work, so I sincerely hope you liked it. Thank you for reading, love from me. X**


	20. Polar Opposites

**Alex and Sherlock and another one of their little chats…**

"What do you mean?"

"Your mind. It interests me. It's not like other peoples.'" Sherlock said quietly in deliberation of his words. He reclined in his chair and fished out his wallet. Alex wasn't sure if his statement was a compliment or an insult.

"Well, of course it's not. It's mine!" Alex said throwing her hands up, pitching her voice higher than normal. Sherlock pressed his lips together and nodded affirmatively.

"Most people are stupid, unobservant and predictably straight forward. I'll admit that when I first met you I saw what I normally see in people – just what I described." He said as he mimicked her gesture with his own hands.

Alex was beginning to feel a sense of fascination. The detective was the epitome of allure and charisma, and then some. Her heart fluttered. The man to her left was rather intimidating yet charming at the same time and she was feeling the full force. She wasn't sure if she wanted to hear more about what he thought of her, but the trembling in her fingers was growing. Wanting more yet not.

"And then…" Alex said as she invited Sherlock to speak some more. It was as if she were waiting to hear if she had been accepted by a publisher. A feeling she knew well.

"Then – it was evident that you possess a mind worthy of further scrutiny. You concluded I had omitted from my deductions about you that you were gay and the reason I had done so. I can now confirm that you were right. Sort of."

Alex felt like she had been driven from and back to the same place. Moving on but not forward.

"Yes, we've already discussed that. Remember – the night you came raving to me about The Aluminium Crutch?" She reminded him.

"I remember and I'm saying it again. That was when I knew that there was more to discover about you. I thought I'd have to wait for the opportunity to introduce you to a case, but no. The very next day the perfect chance came about. I have to say though, you were so easily persuaded."

"How could I not have been? I was actually rather bored. I only really move into the realms of synaesthesia when nothing external proves compelling." Alex said before taking a sip of her coke.

Sherlock just tilted his head at her, his face a picture of attentiveness.

"What?" Alex asked.

"I thought that you would be a slave to your imagination. Some say it's a rare phenomenon."

"I know, but it's more common than people think." Alex said, "It's just the manifestation of imagination. When you came down to the flat that day I was mentally decorating the place. People experience it in different ways. For me, I use it as a creative tool. I couldn't control it as a child. It wasn't until I was fifteen that I was able to successfully separate reality from fantasy."

The detective looked away for a minute, taking in what she confessed. He rose suddenly to go to the bar and get a drink. Alex saw that he simply ordered a glass of water. She was sure he had deduced the barmaid like she had handed him a self-written book. It was getting rather busy now and despite it being just after midday, it was relatively dark inside. There were clouds rolling over the sky outside and the lights in the bar were on.

Sherlock was longer at the bar than was necessary after he had been given his drink. From the expression of the barmaid, it wasn't a friendly conversation. Oh dear, Alex thought, he's not reeling off her life story? Instead, she wrote something down and thanked him.

"I ordered a roast dinner for you." He said as he sat down.

"Oh… thanks, but you really didn't…" Alex stuttered. She was shocked at the gesture.

"Well, you would've had to wait longer for it if you had left it till more and more orders come in. You're clearly hungry, obviously didn't eat a thing before you came here. It's going on your tab, though." He said with a stretch of the corner of his mouth.

"What about you?"

"Had egg and toast this morning. Mrs Hudson insisted." Sherlock sounded like he was moaning about his mother.

"You can't survive on just breakfast all day. Come on, order something."

"I can't handle a dinner at this time. Anyway, I'm not here to eat."

"What are you here for, then? With all due respect, I actually came here to get away from…"

Alex stopped as she realised she was about to say she wanted to get away from Sherlock. In actual fact, it was that after an overwhelming experience, she just wanted time to herself.

Sherlock opened and then closed his mouth before looking at the table, tapping it slightly. He started to get up but Alex stopped him, grabbing his arm.

"No, no, please. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it in the way you think. Stay, please."

"How did you mean it, then?" He asked.

"Just that I wanted to have an afternoon on my own. I knew that _that_ woman would be the topic of conversation particularly during Mycroft's visit."

Sherlock winced at the sound of Irene's name mentioned incognito. It was as if she had insulted him by insulting her. It only enhanced Alex's perception of Sherlock's obvious respect and admiration for her.

It was a few minutes before either of them spoke again. Sherlock distracted himself from Alex's contempt for Irene by whizzing his eyes around the room, drinking in the vibes that people were giving off from their body language or clothes.

"Exercising the Science of Deduction, Mr Holmes?" Alex asked.

"Always." He answered, not taking his eyes from a family of five in the corner of the room.

"I suppose you do it automatically."

"Most of the time. Often more active thinking is involved. What about you?"

"What?" Alex asked.

"Do you automatically read people?"

"Oh, no. I don't _read_ people." The detective just smiled as he doubted her answer.

"I don't!" She exclaimed, turning her palms upwards.

"You do. You just don't realise." Sherlock said. He nodded to emphasise his conviction in that statement.

"I do not! I may notice things, but no more than the average person."

Leaning forward and clasping his hands together on the table. The greenish grey of his eyes penetrated Alex's motley eyes, making them water slightly.

"You may be average, Alex. But there's more to your mind than the average person. It isn't science. I want to know how you do it."

"Do what?!" Alex said louder. Sherlock make a "shh" noise and appeased her by flattening his palm mid-air.

"How does a writer see the world?" It was then that his questions clicked.

"Ah!" Alex said as she understood. "Um, in a very different way to the detective, I suppose."

"Be more specific." Sherlock instructed. His lovely deep voice growling slightly when it hit the lower notes. Alex thought for a moment before responding.

"You see literally what's in front of you, Sherlock. Literally. You say exactly what you see, no more, no less, but at the same time you see beyond what is obvious. Sometimes superficial, sometimes deep."

"Mmm Hmm." Sherlock hummed.

"I don't see things that way. I'm continually searching for inspiration. A seed I can grow into a giant oak. Anything. A small piece of the world that I can expand on. Often, I only see one or two things as my head just wants to latch onto what it can to make something big happen up here." Alex said, pointing to her head.

"This," she continued to point, "is going constantly. Images, conversation, whole scenes, emotions are spiralling all the time like I'm downloading information from somewhere. My mind tries to pick what it can to create a picture, a scenario, a story. Always hungry, never stops. I don't even need to force it." Alex was beginning to talk herself into a frenzy.

"I can't make my mind work like yours, Sherlock. I'm a writer, you're a detective and never the twain shall meet."

They sat in silence for a minute whilst Alex finished her coke and visited the ladies' room.

"What do you see when you look at me, Alex?" Sherlock asked after she had come back from the loo. Alex saw that he had taken off his coat to reveal him in his usual designer jacket and matching trousers. His white shirt buttons slightly strained on his chest.

"You don't want to know." Alex answered honestly.

"I think I do."

"Seriously, no."

"Ok, let's put your skills of synaesthesia to the test!" Sherlock said when he 100% knew that Alex would not reveal her opinions of the detective. Almost as if she was embarrassed to even be asked to say them.

"How?"

"Tell me what you see here. In this pub."

Now this was some test. Alex had to let herself relax completely and step into a different reality to change the vision of her immediate environment. But she found that it was not so difficult to do with a keen eye trained on her.

Letting the soft cushion of her chair support her fully, she sank into its plumpness. Her eyes scanned the pub all over. Of course she was rather familiar with it anyway, but she was noticing the wonderfully carved woodwork and stained glass windows on the doors and in the partition at the bar. The swinging doors of the pub became darker, the door was solid wood and not its usual carpet. The ceiling was rising, chandeliers punching their way through and hanging low. They were lighting up the place and revealing more and more objects.

A treasure chest where the bar was, a large table with a map, a quill and a statue of a parrot. Alex knew exactly where she was.

"On a ship. A pirate's ship. A wealthy pirate who has successfully overpowered every vessel she has come into contact with." Alex was immersed in the world she was creating and wanted to find out more.

"When I say 'she' I mean her," Alex said, pointing to the short, bleached blonde thirty-something barmaid.

"She's the Captain, he's her assistant. He's a bit of an idiot but totally devoted to her, maybe in love with her, but it's hopeless. Oh, and him." She pointed to the obese man leaning over the bar with a half full glass of bitter.

"He's the ring leader of all the other pirates on the ship. He's tough but vulnerable."

Alex continued to reel off the descriptions of the people in the room. The nine year old boy with his mother was a cabin boy and was of privileged background but had been taken from his birth parents and sold into a life of piracy. The ship rocked gently with the waves, the smell of cooking meat was so inviting. The ale and the clatter of money, laughter and the sound of people talking loudly were interrupted when the barman (the assistant to the Captain) came over with her roast dinner. The colour drained from the room and there she was: back in the pub with the world's only Consulting Detective. He looked positively amused and Alex blushed as she saw his face, turning hers away and frowning.

"Don't be embarrassed. That was quite interesting to listen to."

"I'm not boring you?" She asked apologetically.

"I would be more bored than I am now if we weren't having this discussion."

Alex laughed and tucked into her dinner.

"Can you not watch me eat, please?" She said as she found him eyeing how she cut up the pork.

"I don't mean get up and leave, but just don't stare at me."

Sherlock did look a tad offended but acquiesced, moving his gaze away and as Alex saw, was examining everything in the room.

The roast potatoes could have been done a little longer, but the crackling was better than she could ever have dreamt. As she was into the third bit of the long piece of crunchy meat, a loud noise pierced the small atmosphere between them. A "sigh" was all Alex could think it was. An erotic sigh. Just as this happened, Sherlock pulled his phone out of his pocket (he had dispensed with the BlackBerry and had acquired an Iphone 4). It was a text. Alex stopped crunching for a minute as she watched him read the text in the same space of time that the alert sounded and place the device back into his jacket.

"Now, I wonder who that was…" Alex said sarcastically. Sherlock ignored her.

"What did she say? Did she ask you out?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." Sherlock said nonchalantly.

"Are you going to take her up on her offer?"

"No."

"Good." Alex said as she returned to her meal. Sherlock considered her one word answer for a moment.

"Why is it good that I'm not going to have dinner with her?" Alex didn't have to think too much about her answer.

"She's trouble, Sherlock. Far too big for her boots. A woman like that will screw you up, and even a highly intelligent, wise man like you would fall victim to her _charms_."

"Hmm!" Sherlock tittered, "So no going to dinner with Miss Adler, then?"

"Unless you want to become dinner!" Sherlock laughed again. He then decided he wanted to return to the previous subject.

"How could you tell what people where on the 'ship'?"

"Well, it just happens. I see people in character. I don't think about it too much, just go with the very first thing that pops into my head."

"Is that how you write a story?"

"Yeah, sort of." Alex muttered with her mouth full. "I plan it, then just, kind of, say to the characters 'what are you going to do?' They do what they do naturally, as in-character as they can be and I just write what I see. I'm just the camera that follows them around. The same with the scenery."

Sherlock didn't speak for a while. He thought long and hard about what she had said and how it must be for someone imaginative and creative to live in reality. His own mind couldn't be more in reality. Alex was right. The detective's mind and the writer's mind were very different. Couldn't be more poles apart yet somehow sharing something. The science of observation being filtered through two separate lenses to create distinct images. It was a compelling notion that some of less intelligence could be capable of so much. John Watson fascinated Sherlock too. He was certainly a brave and practical man, but seemed to 'get off' on the thrill of cases as Sherlock did. Thinking about his best friend and the 'little sister' figure sitting beside him, he knew that whilst he was undoubtedly the cleverest (always went without saying), he would definitely be lost without his blogger and the writer never ceased to amaze him.

"Do you remember that first case? You know, when you got me to look at all photos?" Alex asked as she placed her knife and fork together.

"Yes."

"Well, I met up with John the following day and he told me that you had done that to him once before."

"Done what?" Sherlock spat, slightly snappy.

"Got him to deduce something just to show off."

"You think I was 'showing off' when I asked you to look at the photos?" He seemed a bit angry.

"Well, yes! You knew that I wouldn't go very far, you would have known that John wouldn't get all the relevant info from whatever it was that you got him to inspect."

Alex was sure that Sherlock would get up and walk out. She didn't want him to, but she had to be honest with him. Instead, he just relaxed in his chair and sighed.

"Ok, I knew both of those things. But I do value a second opinion."

"Yeah, whatever." Alex said with a smile. "You know full well that besides Mycroft, nobody else can do what you do."

"However, someone who sees but does not observe can notice an item as easily as they can disregard it. Often, the most simplest of signs can be significant."

Alex raised her eyebrows at this. There was definitely a method in the man's madness and she could honestly see his point that several pairs of eyes were better than one, however powerful they were.

"So, you won't say what you see me as?" Sherlock asked, returning to their earlier conversation.

"Nope." Was Alex's answer.

"Why not?"

"Some things are best left unsaid, Sherlock."

"Would you like me to analyse you?" He asked.

"You already did the day we met."

"That was what I saw within seconds, but now that I know you my judgment of you has evolved, somewhat."

Alex felt like she was about to be read her fortune in tarot cards, or be sentenced for a crime she had not committed. Placing her hands on her temples and taking a deep breath, she prepared herself to be metaphorically stripped.

"Ok, go on…" She held her breath. Sherlock uncrossed his legs and shuffled so he was closer to her. This only made it worse.

"As you have displayed today you have a vivid imagination, which I knew anyway from when Mrs Hudson told us of your impending move to Baker Street. Also, the fact that the ink on your fingers when you visited John and I on the day you moved to London that you cannot get your ideas out quick enough."

Alex relaxed a little given his rather productive assessment of the workings of her mind. But only a little. She waited for harsher words to spill from his mouth.

"You form opinions of people quickly, especially women. Your feud with Donovan over her treatment of me clearly shows your discontentment of discrimination and a fierce determination to protect and preserve those you are closest to. Irene clearly made an impression on you and you instinctively distrusted her. You have no siblings, yet you appear to have imprinted on John, Mrs Hudson and myself as your extended family showing insecurities and loneliness. A rather touching notion. So, of course, you are a slave to your emotions as your imagination, which served as your friends during childhood and adolescence. You're older than your years in experience and knowledge and are so obsessed with the English language that you cannot grasp the concept of other tongues or able to 'tune in'. Your brain is in no way mathematical, however, you can reach conclusions and achieve results by thinking outside of the box, as they say. Like an artist would."

"Anything else?" Alex asked apprehensively.

"You lack patience and have probably been told in your early youth that you had an attitude problem as your polite and courteous demeanour and manner are clearly conditioned traits. The way in which you speak when uninhibited is rather eloquent, yet satirical and eccentric. Sarcasm is more your nature and you are rather blasé at times and only aim to curb your temper from the inner voice that your mother no doubt instilled in you."

"Thank you, Sherlock, I'm sure you have more but can I ask that you think it and don't say it, please?" Alex said to the detective.

"Just a couple more things. Your mind is interesting to say the least. It's unique but at the same time not. Your gym routine is clearly split cardio and weights, your cheeks are flushed and your hands tremble slightly when you pick things up, showing you're aiming high, maybe a bit too high. You expect too much of yourself."

"Nothing wrong with aiming high." Alex answered.

"True."

Sherlock's phone sounded again, but not the tasteless sound of Irene's fake orgasm. He took out his phone to view the message.

"It's Lestrade. Burglary at a millionaire's home, break in suspicious. Most likely the housekeeper or a gold-digging relative."

"Or the neighbour, or the postman…" Alex added facetiously.

"Why would it be the postman? Anyway, you coming? We'll pick up John on the way."

**I know it's a crap chapter, another one of Sherlock and Alex talking. I promise that there'll be more action in the next chapter. Please review! Kisses all round XXXXXX**


	21. A Study In Gold

**Before I introduce this chapter, I would like to say that I dedicate it to my transatlantic pen-friend Anna, with whom I have sadly lost contact. If you are reading this, I hope that you are ok. I miss you not appraising my work, reading your fics and our chats. Hope we can begin contact again soon.**

**The 'case' chapters are getting harder and harder. This was definitely the most difficult one! **

Alex, Sherlock and John arrived at the home in question at 3pm the day after they had the pleasure of Irene Adler's presence. But the image of that woman no longer played in Alex's mind and she felt the buzz and excitement she had come to know well as the three of them stepped out of Lestrade's car onto a gravelly path.

It protruded from a very big, expensive and decadent house that had pillars either side of the large white door and hanging baskets of flowers. Bay windows and three driveways with a Land Rover, a BMW and a Mercedes parked on them. It was drizzling ever so slightly, causing the grass that clearly surrounded the property to shine with a beautiful, deep green.

Both Alex and John knew that Sherlock Holmes would not be interested in such wonder and would only see what his brilliant and observant mind would allow him to. Lestrade proceeded to give them the lowdown on the matter.

"The break-in happened at about 9:30pm yesterday, only discovered by the owners, Robert and Amy Parker, when they arrived back this morning from a night in London with friends. Their two teenage kids, Anthony, 13, and Eleanor, 16, were staying at their friend's house three doors down. This is about half a mile given the large spacing between the houses…"

"993 metres to be exact." Sherlock interrupted, gazing down the wide, tree lined road. The house in particular could be identified by a police car waiting outside. It was distant but clear.

"How…?" John questioned his friend. Sherlock just gave him a look, which John interpreted with accurate timing. How else did Sherlock know everything? John already knew the answer to that question. Lestrade continued.

"Ok… um, the family are very wealthy, as you can see."

"What's been stolen?" Alex asked.

"A gold chalice, worth over £100,000, over half a million pounds in cash from the floor safe in the basement and all the items of jewellery from the parents' room's wall safe."

"Hmm…" Sherlock said as he looked keenly around the borders of the wide gravel path. It was lined with flowers and a small picket fence. He stepped over and examined the grass with an expert eye. The magnifying glass was whipped out of his pocket as swift as a magician and he was practically dancing around the front garden before long. The DI, John and Alex looked on in amazement.

Donovan and Anderson were closer to the house. They too looked on and before Donovan could giggle at the sight of the man in a long black coat prancing like an amateur ballerina, she looked over at Alex, who in turn glared back. Remembering their terms, Donovan looked away, her face becoming serious and indifferent.

"What _are _you doing?" John said as he too stepped over the white picket fence and began to approach the detective.

"NO! Stay off the grass!" Sherlock cried out. He was practically beside the house now, examining more and more.

A bid beaming grin was shining on his pale face, his cheeks flushing slightly. Within a few seconds, he had disappeared around the side of the house. John made to follow him, but stopped as he heard the detective's voice calling from beyond the wall.

"I said stay off the grass, John!"

Lestrade and Alex giggled as the doctor repositioned himself beside them, holding his hands up to show he wasn't going anywhere, even though Sherlock couldn't see him.

"Ha! That is wonderful! Absolutely fantastic!" Sherlock proclaimed as loud as he could emerging from the opposite side of the building that he waltzed behind earlier.

"What's wonderful?" Lestrade asked.

"I need to see the shoes of all the residents of the house. The shoes they were wearing the night in question. The parents' and the children's."

Lestrade instructed Anderson to go fetch them. All five members of the family were seated in the living room of the home, which was much larger, but not unlike Irene Adler's bright living room. Gold was a main theme. The furniture irons were covered in it, the curtains a deep gold with bright gold ties. This family were so rich they seemed to want reminders of it everywhere. Sherlock took one trip through the house before congregating in the front room.

All four family members were sat speechless on two cream sofas, anxiety written all over their faces. Sherlock stood back and observed them as if the setting in the room were a piece of artwork worthy of careful scrutiny and analysis.

"They've all been questioned, Sherlock." Lestrade said. The detective did not react.

"I'd like to question them all myself. One by one. In private, please, Inspector."

Said inspector eyed Sherlock with a gaping mouth, hands in his pockets ready to protest. A sharp look from Sherlock put him in his place.

"Alright. Mr Parker? If you'd like to come with me."

Mr Parker, a man with lines shaved into his head, a dark fake tan and a tight fitting tank top left with an annoyed grumbling noise. Dragging his feet and whispering an expletive under his breath, he obediently, but reluctantly left the room to follow Lestrade and Sherlock.

John and Alex were left in the room with the remaining three members of the family. They heard Lestrade's voice faintly as he introduced the father to Sherlock.

Alex could see that Mrs Parker was not much shaken, but angry. Her fake tanned arms were embellished in gold jewellery, as was her neck and fingers. Her ears were lightly decorated with simple gold stud earrings. The writer noticed that her love for gold was also displayed in her golden blonde hair with a cream designer suit with matching shoes, which had some "blink and you'll miss it" gold embroidery stitched into them.

The kids couldn't have been more different. Eleanor was 16 but looked 21 but didn't have any tell-tale signs of her parents' wealth. No make-up, nails bitten and hair messy, she looked like she had gone to bed in her most casual gear and just woke up. Maybe she had. Shock was dancing in her eyes. The vacuous, yet surprised expression did not change, except for the occasional opening and closing of her mouth as she was desperate to say something but couldn't think of it.

The boy, Robert, was worse. Swimming in oversized designer sportswear, he hugged his middle as if it would fall out. He rocked uncomfortably on the sofa, breathing fast and shallow.

"You alright, mate?" John asked the boy. Robert nodded awkwardly, staring at the floor, and resorted to rocking again.

"Sure?" Alex checked with him. Robert didn't look at either John nor Alex. The mother just shook her head and huffed. Alex wanted to find out more.

"How much money was taken from the safe?" Alex asked her.

"What's it to you?" Mrs Parker's voice was deep and raspy with a strong Essex accent.

"I'm here to help solve the case, Mrs Parker, as is John Watson here and Sherlock Holmes. Can you tell me how much was stolen, please?" Alex surprised herself at how calm and assertive she was. Mrs Parker scratched her head and stared about the room in thought.

"Err… Last time I counted it was last week and there was… five hundred and ten thousand, nine hundred and thirty-three quid in there."

"Why such a random amount, why not half a million dead?" Alex enquired.

"Cos it weren't, alright?!" The woman snapped as loud as she could.

"Mum, calm down." Eleanor soothed, showing a very different accent to her mother. She and her brother were born and raised in London.

"Sorry, I'm just stressed out!" Mrs Parker said as she lit up a cigarette.

"We did have half a million in there, but added to it every so often. Just in case, you know? It's all gone. It's me jewellery I'm more concerned about. Took me ages to get that whole Pandora charm bracelet set!"

"It's alright, Mrs Parker, Scotland Yard is onto it and if there's anyone who can solve this case it's Sherlock Ho…" John was stopped in his tracks by the presence of the man himself.

"I know how much you like to compliment my aptitude, John, but no time for that now. I need to question Mrs Parker. If you'd like to come with me."

Sherlock had turned the charms on this woman so that she was as compliant as an obedient child would be to her father.

"God, it didn't take him long!" John exclaimed.

"No, just asked me three questions and said he was done. I mean what's that all about?" Mr Parker asked rhetorically as he too lit up a cigarette, his accent too oozed Essex. He asked his daughter and son if they were alright and then focused on the floor in front of him, still in shock and disbelief.

"Do you have another daughter?" John asked as he directed to a picture of a young woman with Mr and Mrs Parker in a graduation cloak and cap.

"Oh, yeah. Isabelle. At university now. Graduated from college a couple of months ago, got straight As in her A Levels. So proud of her as any father would be, I am. She came back here just before she settled down into the Halls of Residence place on campus. Was nice of her to say her goodbyes."

John smiled as he paced the room slowly. Eleanor and Robert were getting more restless. Sherlock was even quicker with them than he was with their parents. None of them spoke about what the detective asked them. The two children came back from their interviews without their shoes and Alex knew that he had confiscated them for the purposes of the case. The parents' shoes had been picked up earlier by Anderson.

"Got what you need?" Anderson called from the hallway.

"Of course, Anderson. I presume you'll not be using these?" Sherlock asked as he held up the carrier bag full of shoes. Before Anderson could even open his mouth, Sherlock answered for him.

"No, didn't think so. But then again, you wouldn't _observe_ the important facts, would you?"

Anderson gaped at Lestrade in protest over how he had been spoken to.

"John, Alex! Need to get to Bart's." Sherlock called from the path as his footsteps crunched over it rapidly towards Lestrade's car. As Alex and John followed suit, John was keen to share his thoughts with the detective.

"You think it was one of the family?"

"No. I _know_ it was a couple of members of the family and someone else. Just need to check forensics to be sure and there's a couple more people I need to question." Sherlock said with a smile, once again holding up the bag of shoes. He strutted down the road to the house where Robert and Eleanor's friend lived. He held up his had to silently communicate to John and Alex that they were to stay put.

It was half an hour before Sherlock emerged. He took his time walking back to where Alex and John waited very patiently for him, his coat flapping about in the breeze, his seemingly black hair showing glints of auburn and brown in the setting sun.

The three of them entered Lestrade's car, who drove them from that glorious millionaires' residential area to Bart's.

"There were multiple footprints leading up and to the house." Sherlock said as they were buckling themselves into the back seat. "They appear to be trainers, but it's difficult to tell when there are so many on a lush overgrown lawn. I picked up a couple more from the friend's house, whose name is Liam. They circled the house and then went in via the first floor window at the back of the house, immediately above the conservatory. I know which ones are responsible, but I have to check all the shoes to eliminate the others, Liam's parents included. But still, there is something that doesn't make sense…"

"What's that?" John asked.

"No idea."

That was all that was said before they went into the hospital and took the long walk to the lab. Molly was in the morgue performing a post mortem so Sherlock didn't bother disturbing her. She would have been of no use anyway.

Sherlock insisted on him being the only one on the side of the lab with the test tubes and microscope. He growled slightly as he extracted items from the shoes and compared them with whatever it was he found on the ground.

"Robert was anxious. Very anxious. Eleanor wasn't in shock, she was trying her hardest to compose herself and not give anything away." Sherlock muttered once he had put many samples in petri dishes.

"It was the kids? Their friend Liam, too?" John asked.

"Undoubtedly." Sherlock responded. He had successfully got the attention of Alex and John, who moved around the lab table closer to the detective. Sherlock slapped the sides of the microscope with both hands triumphantly before turning to his colleagues.

"It _was_ the kids. And Liam. The footprints that circled the house were reasonably fresh, made before the drizzle today so no earlier than last night. They were in a ladies' size six and a men's size five. The two children were wearing the shoes that coincide with the prints on the side of the building and on the grass, but there were men's size sixes there as well. Small, young and agile. Liam and Robert are quite accomplished sports enthusiasts and wore thick soled trainers. They were the ones who got access to the house and stole the items and money. Eleanor stayed on the ground, keeping watch. She circumvented the property more than once. The kids were supposed to have slept round Liam's that night. Robert shared the bunk beds with Liam and Eleanor slept in Liam's sister's room while the sister stayed up most of the night watching DVDs in the front room. They sneaked out of their back door and made their way to the house."

"Why didn't the burglar alarm sound? And the floodlights?" John asked.

"The kids disabled it before they left, by smashing it from the inside. Made to look like a burglary and made to look like someone who wasn't one who knew the property. But they made a mistake…" Sherlock said before pausing in contemplation.

"Which was what?" Alex asked impatiently.

"They stole _everything_ from the safes. A professional burglar doesn't do that. Only takes what is necessary, never _all_ of it."

"Did you question the sister about whether she heard anything?" John queried.

"Yes." Sherlock answered. "She even walked past Liam's room a few times and heard them talking, around the time of the burglary. That's what doesn't make sense." Sherlock looked lost in thought before Alex spoke next.

"I'll tell you what also doesn't make sense, Sherlock. Why did the kids do this?"

"Because of the lack of money in their trusts." He answered.

"What?" Alex and John said simultaneously.

"I asked the parents about their children's inheritance. There is none. They each have £18,000 in trust, which will be paid to them on their 18th birthdays."

"Seems like quite a sum, why would they steal from their own parents?" John asked.

"Because that is all they're going to get. Mr and Mrs Parker are self-made millionaires. They came from under privileged backgrounds, both of them. He made his money modelling, a little bit of acting and setting up his own modelling agency. This is how they met. She too is a model. They worked hard, 24/7 at times. Their belief is that you should work for your millions. They gave their eldest daughter the same amount of money on her 18th. She didn't say anything to her siblings. She was grateful and believed in hard work, but Robert and Eleanor are much more spoiled and selfish. They found out about their trusts. Don't know how, but it doesn't matter. They wanted to ensure that they had money tucked away. Liam's family's fortune is dwindling and he wanted a cut to ensure that he remained in the lifestyle he had become accustomed. This took weeks if not months of planning…"

"Brilliant!" Alex exclaimed before turning her eyes away bashfully. The detective looked surprised and gratefully at her.

"So, they stole the chalice, the money, the jewellery so that they could get more money?"

"Yes, John, as I've already said." Sherlock said with an exasperated tone.

"Yeah, fine! But how come Liam's sister heard them in their room?"

Sherlock gazed down at the floor, but wasn't really looking at it. He was struggling to think about how this was possible. Then, he remembered something that Liam's sister had said to him.

"She told me that when she walked past, they were watching Superman VI, which they'd already watched the night before, as they both slept over that previous night also. She was sure that one of them cracked a joke that she heard before, as she was on the landing on her phone to her best friend at the time!" Sherlock was standing now, hands in prayer and poised at his chest. His eyes shone and his mouth quivered.

"I don't get it…" Alex said confusingly.

"They tape recorded their previous night and played it back, so that it _sounded_ like they were in the room! Oh my God that is wonderful!" Sherlock yelled with a jump. Within seconds he had barged past Alex and John and had swooped his coat on as if it were a magician's cloak. They followed him as he briskly walked out of the hospital, holding his phone to his ear and mumbling something about the recipient picking it up and not letting it go to voicemail.

"Lestrade, you still at the crime scene? Good, go to Liam's house, you need to look for a cassette tape, discarded or still in the boy's room. In fact, it could be anywhere. Could be cut, unravelled, you name it. But, please, find that tape! It's got 'guilty' written all over it. No, not literally!"

It wasn't long before all three of them were back at the house in question. It was dark now and Alex and John were once again asked, or rather ordered, to stay by Lestrade's car whilst Sherlock went to investigate.

However, little had he gone five minutes and he had texted both Alex and John to ask them to join him.

Liam's house was nothing like the Parkers'. It was mahogany in most places and had a seemingly gothic quality. This was the sort of house that Alex wanted to own. It was comfy, yet spooky.

"Ok, I found this in Liam's room." Sherlock said as he ran rapidly down the stairs to great them. He held an A3 piece of paper out in front of Alex and John. It was a plan, drawn in pencil, so that it could be rubbed. It had been found under the floorboards of Liam's room.

"I only found it because the carpet looked like it had been disturbed recently. Look there."

Sherlock pointed at a location that was apparently off the map. Liam had gone to great lengths to disguise the "special place" on the map as it was written across the top of the page, at the back of the plan of the Parkers' house. Why disguise it on the map? If the map were found, they'd be found guilty anyway, Alex thought.

"Special place. Special place. Special place…" Sherlock repeated under his breath.

"It would be at the back of the Parkers' home, wouldn't it, Sherlock?" John asked.

"I know! I'm trying to think!" The detective snapped.

"Well, you went right round the house and told us to stay off the grass, so you'd be the only one who could remember. Unless we go back there?" John suggested.

"No, it's fine I know where it is! 176 metres from the back door. Wait here."

Sherlock swept out of the hallway so fast that John barely had time to say the first syllable of his best friend's name before he was gone. Staring at one another in confusion, Alex and John heard their friend and colleague's deep voice speak in low whispers to Lestrade in an adjacent room.

They both paused to take a breath before the man re-entered the hallway, a little out of breath.

"Done. Case solved. They have enough evidence to convict the children and now the parents will have their items and money back. Tape was found, too. Cut in the middle, but it can be re-forged. No need to make a pointless insurance claim now!"

"That it?" John asked with his palms facing the ceiling.

"That's it, John. Another case closed. Time to return to Baker Street. There's an experiment I've been meaning to perform so I'll have to stop at Bart's on the way…"

"God, you never stop do you?" Alex joked as they exited the house and made their way towards the police cars 993 metres up the road, silver streetlamps illuminating their journey.

"Stop thinking? Why would I do that?" Sherlock asked her.

"I'm not even going to try to answer that." Alex said quietly. As they continued walking, Alex finally said what she had been meaning to say for months.

"Why do you do that, Sherlock?"

"Do what?" He asked, slowing and turning to look at her.

"Strut. Swagger like you're on the catwalk modelling your coat." This time Sherlock stopped on the spot. Alex and John stopped a couple of paces ahead and turned to stare at him. Alex noticed that John had a smirk building on his face and possibly a giggle bubbling inside him.

"I don't do that." Sherlock said.

"You bloody do!" Alex tittered turning to glance at John, who silently agreed.

Sherlock switched his focus between them before deciding not to argue. Scoffing slightly, he once again adopted his catwalk 'walk' and took as long a stride as possible to reach the police cars before his friends.

**Thank you, Anna, for giving me the courage to upload my fic a couple of months ago. Wherever you are, I wish you every happiness. **


	22. Abyss

**Warning: This chapter deals with depression and mentions of suicidal thoughts. **

Alex loved living at Baker Street. Mrs Hudson was like her second mother and the flat was all hers to do with what she wanted. She came and went as she pleased, never had someone to answer to or take orders from. John was the best and kindest man she had ever met. Sherlock was so eccentric and interesting that despite his faults and flaws she really liked him. Alex and Molly were close friends and went out together often. But Molly worked such long shifts and Alex had tight deadlines with her novel as well as the regular participation in Sherlock's cases that she didn't have a lot of time to herself. Even if she did, it was to eat, sleep and make sure she spoke with her mother regularly.

Except for today.

Today, Alex had for once declined to accompany Sherlock and John on one of their cases. Sherlock had asked, or rather ordered, Alex to go to a particular pub, order a specific dish and drink and speak to a person he was suspicious about. It was a rather wealthy woman whom Sherlock had been commissioned to investigate, but he felt that Alex would be the best candidate. Alex had said no and shut the door to her flat promptly before Sherlock could respond. She hadn't even turned her laptop on, opened her sketchbook or switched on the television all day. Alex was sure that Sherlock had noticed that all was not good.

It was as if she was in a black hole and there was no getting out. Her life was excellent, her book was doing well and her publisher had just the day before handed her a cheque for over ten thousand pounds, as her advance was paid off and she was beginning to earn royalties. She had anticipated that once she had to start paying rent to Mrs Hudson, if her money were to dwindle, she would have to get at least a part-time job. Things were looking positive.

Slouching on her sofa, cushion clutched at her abdomen, in a loose track suit and not focusing her vision on anything, she grappled with her titan of an imagination that was swinging between making her witness the death of her loved ones in a horrific way, or winning the Nobel prize in style.

It was after six o clock in the evening. She had barely moved all day. Tears stained her face and she understood that this was the return of something that had almost claimed her life whilst she was doing her GCSEs. Depression. However, she had never been diagnosed with it. Refused to see a doctor as a teenager and pulled herself out of it. She didn't come out of the hole completely until she was nineteen. She hadn't been back there since. But today, she had been thrown back in. Back into the depths of darkness.

After deciding to finally get up and make herself a cup of tea, someone knocked at her door. Sighing and slapping her thigh, she swore to herself, not wanting anyone to come by and ask her if she was alright. Opting to ignore it, she went into the kitchen. Half consciously gathering milk, tea, sweetener and a cup, she heard another knock. It was then accompanied by a voice.

"Alex! I know you're home, please open up!" It was John. He had gone with Sherlock to investigate the woman at the pub. Alex couldn't help but feel she was a hindrance or an expendable appendage when it came to cases. Sherlock and John had never said as much and had actively asked her to participate in cases. She knew that an honest man like Sherlock would tell her if she was getting in the way. However, she couldn't shake the feeling that she wouldn't be missed if she left. What was the point? Sherlock, John and Mrs Hudson would be fine without her.

Uttering another curse-word, she stomped barefoot up the stairs to her flat door, yanking it open as if the reasonably light door was heavy. As soon as she saw John's face she couldn't hold the tears back anymore.

"John, I'm sorry, but I'm not in the mood today." She sobbed, her voice breaking on the last word. She went to close the door.

"Hey! Alex, what's wrong?" He said as he moved to the first step of the stairs and pushing, taking hold of her shoulders and stroking her arms soothingly. This was it, Alex was breaking down in front of the doctor. She couldn't respond. She just couldn't say what was going on in her head. John understood that she couldn't answer and enveloped her in a heartfelt hug, rubbing his hands up and down her back to calm her.

"Shh, it's alright, I've got you." He said quietly. After a few seconds, he released her and they both went down the stairs to Alex's living room.

"So, do you think you can tell me what's wrong? You can trust me." John said as he emerged from the kitchen with two cups of tea.

"Would you believe me if I told you I don't know?" Alex answered honestly.

John ran his forefinger across his lips as he thought about it. He didn't specialise in psychology, but he knew enough about it. He knew that this was the reason she had not accompanied Sherlock and him earlier that day.

"How do you feel? Can you describe it to me?"

Alex thought hard about it. It was difficult to put into words as her mind was so distracted from the somersaults and the taunting about her being helpless in a deep pit.

"I'm in a sort of hole. A deep hole. There's no light, just darkness. Nothing even above me. I can't describe it any better because that's exactly what it was like where I am right now."

"How long have you been feeling like this?" John asked.

"Since this morning. I kind of woke up in it. I went to bed last night feeling kind of numb, but overnight I've just… plummeted." She described, using her hand to gesture the downward motion.

"When was the last time you felt this way?" John enquired. He took over the task of tea making. Alex absent-mindedly propped herself on the kitchen stool beside the counter.

"About four or five years ago…" She sobbed softly. "Although I had a nasty break-up a year ago and…" Alex's voice dissipated. Realisation washed over and through her. John was listening keenly.

"I think I've been on the verge of the pit since. I thought I was over her, but now…"

Alex didn't continue her sentence. Her face contorted as warm tears cascaded down her hot face. She felt slightly embarrassed in front of John and covered her face with the hand closest to the doctor. Shielding her cries from him she held back the whimpering sobs as much as possible but it was no use.

"Hey…" John cooed as he approached her. Bending over and taking hold of her hand he uncovered her sad face.

"There's no shame in feeling this way. A lot of people feel depressed when they are heartbroken, but the two are completely different."

"You can have the two together and I certainly thought that I couldn't get any lower a year ago. It's strange, I genuinely believed I could carry on and continue when I got my book published. I _do_ think that I'm over her but now that I've taken a step forward I've…"

"Plunged into the pit?" John finished. Alex nodded and the tears came again. Taking her by her ribs, he hoisted her up from the stool and held her close again. She couldn't stop the trembling. John had to practically hold her up and steady her by allowing her body weight to sink into his.

"I'm lonely, John."

He held her close for a few seconds before letting go and fetching a tissue from the living room. Alex wanted to take it from him, but John was insistent on wiping her face himself.

"You've got me, Mrs Hudson, Sherlock. I know you're friends with Molly as well."

"I know, but I don't have that one person. Sorry, I know that sounds derogatory to you, but you and Sherlock are best friends, Mrs Hudson has a best friend, Molly and I don't see a lot of each other and I've never been much of a family person."

Throwing the tissue in the bin, he took hold of her arms once more. His grip was tighter than she was comfortable with. But she understood the necessity.

"Alexandra Price, I know _exactly_ how it feels to be lonely and I understand why you feel that way. But, please, don't ever think you've got no-one to turn to. I think of you as a little sister and I'm here if you want to talk. Not just as a friend, but if you want me to see about arranging for you to speak with a professional I can see what I can do. It's hard to admit that you need help, but just you telling me is helping you more than you think. It may not feel like that now but if you take small steps you will come out of the hole you're in. Sherlock may not seem like he cares. But I can assure you that there is a human being inside the shell and Mrs Hudson dotes on you. Let her mother you a bit. Come on, we'll have this cup of tea and see if there's something on the telly."

John led her by her free hand into the living room. He turned the telly on and scanned through the menu. Alex thought some more about her earlier feelings and wondered if she should ask the doctor.

"John, can I ask you something? Am I a… a hindrance when it comes to cases? I mean, you and Sherlock managed before I arrived and you obviously managed to deal with the case earlier. Would it be better if I didn't get involved in future?"

"What? A hin… no! Yeah, we did alright before you arrived here, but you played a vital role in that 'National Importance' case and the matter with the Collinsons. In fact, Sherlock and I had to forego that earlier case because the woman in question was gay and there was no way she'd trust Sherlock or me so quickly. You were the best candidate rather than another woman cos you have some experience now. Mycroft isn't happy, but he has come up with another plan. One that won't involve intervention from us. Why did you ask that, anyway?"

Alex shook her head and looked away.

"Oh, just feeling a bit, kind of, not needed. What's the point, you know?"

This diverted John's attention from flitting through the TV menu to the woman sitting on the sofa with him. Slapping the remote down on the coffee table, causing the tea in their mugs to swirl slightly, he leaned back and viewed her with his keen medical eye.

"You _are_ needed, Alex. Don't ever think 'what's the point?'. Do you want me to stay here with you?"

"No! No, no, please, you've done that before I don't want to keep you. I'll be ok, really."

John smiled and drank the rest of his tea whilst observing the emotional features of his friend. She stared down at the fabric of the sofa, unconsciously tracing circles on her knee with her index finger.

"Well, if you want you can come up and join me and Sherlock? He's recapping old cases and reading, so he'll be on his best behaviour. Hopefully."

Alex was up for doing anything at all rather than moping about her flat. Grabbing her KOBO and a puzzle book she followed John up to 221b.

Sherlock was… _quiet_. Not in one of his nicotine-patch, deep in thought, exploration of his 'mind palace' quiet (his thoughts were always loud and clear), but actually silent. Content looking even. Mrs Hudson was bustling around the kitchen clearing up after their dinners (Alex had to run the plural of that word through her mind a couple of times). She was pleased when John and Alex appeared behind her.

"Hello, you two! Alex, are you alright, my darling?" Mrs Hudson approached the writer and cupped her face with cold hands. The coolness was soothing against Alex's hot, flushed cheeks. All Alex could think of once the coldness dissipated was the fact that Mrs Hudson had asked the worst question she could, even though she meant well. As she nodded her head rather unconvincingly, Alex caught a glimpse of the consulting detective taking a fleeting glance at her. There was no need to tell Sherlock anything. He could read all he needed.

Mrs Hudson's answer to negative emotions was always tea and cake, so she went to fetch a ginger cake from her kitchen and brought three large slices up for Sherlock, John and Alex. Sherlock waved his hand at his landlady, rejecting the offer, without taking his eyes from his large heavy book. Alex saw that it was on venomous animals. He had a box on the end table to his right and Alex could see that it contained specimens of spiders. Large ones, small ones, coloured ones.

Taking a seat at the desk, Alex ate her cake and drank her tea without once turning on her KOBO or opening her puzzle book. The sweetness and warmth was comforting, but Alex knew food wouldn't be a solution to her predicament. Writing was always her outlet. Maybe she could start a blog herself, write some poetry for the first time since she was 16. However, she knew she needed help and if truth be told, this had been coming for some time.

The heartbreak, the loneliness and the sudden happiness and euphoria of being accepted by a publisher and agent had meant that she had something to make her feel good, but ignore the problems underneath. Alex's had been made to feel as is she were the size of her little finger by her bitch of an ex.

Her new friends had helped her to move on and the cases had been a great distraction from her feelings. Falling into the abyss had been sudden, but in hindsight, it had been inevitable and impending for a while.

John took her plate and gave her a small hug before he took it into the kitchen. Alex tried to get her head around an arrow-word for fifteen minutes after trying and failing to get into Pride and Prejudice on her KOBO. Finding it a strain, she slammed it down on the desk. Turning her attention to the telly, she saw the detective look at her once more. This was more of a lingering look. Of concern, perhaps?

"Alex, what do you make of this?" Sherlock said as he flashed up an A4 sized file. Of course, Alex couldn't read it where she was sitting so she approached the man to take it from him.

John was so engrossed in Coronation Street he was pretty much in a trance. Alex drew up the desk seat next to Sherlock, who was slumped in his own comfortable armchair.

Finding it rather empowering being at a slightly higher height than the detective, Alex confidently opened the file and perused it. But, much the same with Pride and Prejudice, the arrow-word and Coronation Street, she found it hard to focus.

As if reading her thoughts and feelings, Sherlock drew up his knees and placed his feet flat on the seat so that he was crouching. By doing this, he was level headed, if not a smidge taller, than the writer sitting next to him.

"Um, it's a long file, Sherlock. It'll take me a while go to through it."

"Just read the summary."

He interlocked his fingers and rested his chin on them, eyeing Alex as he always did whenever he tried to pick her brains. However, he never needed to. He just simply loved to pit his intellect against those less clever than himself. He exploited John's practical and straight-forward mind so much it was a wonder that the man hadn't left him.

Alex could tell the summary was written in Sherlock's hand. It was full of fact, inferences and clear as crystal deductions. The story involved a man of about eighty, who had a heart condition and was found dead on the floor of his retirement home. Nothing suspicious about that. But, it seemed like he had a struggle. Tried to claw his way across the carpet, streams of saliva from his original falling point. A heart attack was the most plausible explanation, surely?

The door was locked from the inside, supposedly. However, Sherlock had clearly found evidence from the lock, showing tiny marks from a biro clip that it had been locked from the outside.

"Why would they lock the door?" Alex enquired again.

"Read on." The detective instructed.

Alex did as she was told and went on to find that the man had gotten into a habit of locking his front door, even when he was home. Why?

The elderly gentleman was confirmed by the coroner as having died from natural causes. There had been no visitors to the property in weeks. There was evidence for and against this. It was the against that Sherlock had alighted on.

He had deduced that someone was present on the day of the murder. The man's own grandson, who had previously been in trouble for GBH. He stood to inherit over £50,000 from his grandfather when he died.

The elderly gentleman was a type one diabetic and had to inject himself every day. But Sherlock had noticed in the post mortem that there were two miniscule fresh needle wounds on the corpse. The police and the coroner therefore tested the blood, expecting to find high levels of insulin, which would explain things. However, they found the normal amount. The regularity of the needle wounds clearly showed that although the man was eighty, he was very careful about his diabetes and had it under control for many years, injecting himself twice a day. His eyesight was even in good nick. Clearly, the man had been very health conscious.

A heart attack seemed the most likely explanation and it almost certainly had happened when the grandson was present.

Sherlock had been following Alex's eye-line and snatched the file back from her aggressively as she finished the first page. Immediately, he assured her that this was not meant the way she had taken it by tapping her hand slightly.

"Tell me what you think." Sherlock implored her. It was a no-brainer really.

"The man died of a heart attack and the grandson did nothing to help. He tried to make it seem as if he wasn't there so he wouldn't be charged with anything." Sherlock shook his head.

"That's how it seems, the most logical explanation. However, please note that the grandson had just come back from a month's holiday in Rio De Janeiro.

"So what?"

"So what? What do you find in South America that you don't find in the UK?"

Alex could think of so much. Colourful festivals, blue sea, hot weather, sugary-sandy beaches, Christ The Redeemer and some of the world's most deadly…

She looked over Sherlock's shoulder and saw the box of spiders. It was on its side, so she couldn't see the spiders in it. Or was it another poisonous creature? A toad, a snake?

"They have venomous and dangerous animals." Alex said. Sherlock had noticed her look at the box of spiders so he reached behind him to bring it to her. Alex flinched as she saw the sticky legged, creepy creatures in their individual Perspex boxes. Dead, obviously, but scary nonetheless.

"Which of these is the most deadly?" Sherlock asked her as he ran his finger of the glass cover.

Scanning them carefully, Alex didn't have a clue. They weren't labelled. Then, she remembered from a programme she had watched before that the Brazilian Wandering Spider is the most venomous spider. She asked if this was one of the spiders in the box.

"Yes, this one." Sherlock said as he pointed to a brownish-grey spider in the corner with red hairs on the chelicerae.

"Unlike most people, the grandson wasn't scared of spiders at all and knew where to get his hands on the venom of this particular spider after researching it. He had erased his laptop's history the same day his grandfather died." Sherlock told her.

"Hmm. So, he had been hunting these aggressive creatures in Rio, nearly causing his own demise or a serious risk to his health. He managed to kill one or a few of them and extract their venom. This was the needle mark on the dead man's skin!" Alex exclaimed.

"Precisely!" Sherlock affirmed. "He thought that nobody would recognise that the wound was recent, that his insulin levels would be tested. He had crushed and thrown away the syringe in his own kitchen, the idiot. A fragment of glass with traces of venom was found. A second autopsy confirmed that he had died from the venom of this spider."

"But doesn't the venom have a… rather painful effect on men?" Alex asked Sherlock with an embarrassed smile. The detective returned the gesture.

"Yes, and this is another thing that the grandson did think of and placed a half empty pack of Viagra in his grandfather's medicine cabinet. But he didn't have a prescription so the grandson told the police that his father had obtained it from suppliers on the internet. Another explanation that didn't wash."

Alex sat back in her seat. She was still in the bad place. Having something to distract her, however, had made her more alert. Sherlock maintained his hunched position and continued to survey her.

"Feeling any better?" He asked.

Alex felt that honesty was the best policy and she knew that Sherlock would deduce her in time if she gave a false answer. Looking him directly in the eye, she shook her head apologetically. This only made Sherlock appear disappointed and perplexed. He started to shift back into his original position when Alex placed her hand on his arm.

"No, no, no don't think like that. It's so good of you to try and make me feel better and I'm really grateful for it. It's just that this is a long-term thing that's going on and it'll be a while before I feel better on the inside."

Sherlock pursed his lips and nodded. He still seemed a bit put out but assured by her confirmation that his efforts were appreciated.

Gathering any kind of courage Alex had, she leaned forward and placed a thankful kiss on Sherlock's cheek, ignoring his ever-so slight wince. He blinked a couple of times before realising what had happened and picking up another case file and reading through it.

Taking up the puzzle book and attempting the same arrow-word as before, Alex felt her focus return and enjoyed the rest of the evening with her friends.

**Sorry if this is a rather crap chapter. I think it helps to move Alex on a bit and after 'case' chapters, I like to do something personal and about the friendship. Please, please, please, please, please review! **


	23. Steps Forward

**Firstly may I say a THANK YOU to ayearafterklaineoccurred for her suggestions for this chapter and reviews. Also to BlueStrawberryIII and Kuon for their reviews – you guys are fan-bloody-tastic. Thank you to everybody's reviews, alerts, favourites and everything. Love you so much! **

**When this story is over at Reichenbach, there will be a sequel which will run parallel to series 3. I may continue to include Alex throughout the years that Sherlock runs for, depending on fans' reactions and if I am able to keep coming up with ideas. **

What is with the British weather? Alex thought to herself in the waiting room. It had been sunny earlier, with puffy golden-white clouds on the horizon but with wisps of grey. It had been chucking it down between 10am and 11am, but now it was sunny again. She wondered how long it would be before it would once again change its mind.

The room was white and rosy-peach with the obligatory coffee tables supporting a year out of date magazines on them. Toys for children in the corner and even a 'secret den' behind a small wooden door.

Alex was glad of the absence of the horrible smell of surgical spirit that would usually curl through the air of a doctor's surgery waiting room. This was a clinic that Alex's doctor had sent her to, to assess her state of mind further. He had been reluctant to place her on medication. Alex agreed to this and decided to visit the gym every other day, rather than a couple of times a week. She was aware that exercise could help a person's state of mind.

As her name was called out, she felt a sizzling in the pit of her stomach that bubbled up slightly. It was nerve-racking, the prospect of bearing her soul to a complete stranger.

It was a tall, slim, black haired lady who introduced herself as Amanda. She had come down to the waiting room in person to greet Alex. They walked up several flights of stairs until they were at the point of the building that could only be described as the attic. There were no sloping ceilings, though. It was just that Alex could see no further way up higher.

The room was yellow and grey, with loose netting on the windows and at least 20 year old fraying curtains. Like a barely liveable bedsit rather than a consultation room. Still, it was warm, dry and cosy.

Alex was asked to fill in a questionnaire on the computer first, similar to the one that the doctor asked her to fill in. Amanda eyed the printed results and questioned Alex further.

She had no problem being open with someone. It was one of her faults, wearing her heart on her sleeve. Not considering herself private, Alex was happy to tell anyone about her feelings. It was more difficult, however, to describe anecdotes of her life.

Inevitably, the subject turned to what Amanda deemed to be the beginning of the descent into the abyss.

"How long ago was the break up?"

"Nearly a year now." Alex replied.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

The question she was dreading. Bringing it all up again? Opening a wound? Alex wondered then if the wound had ever even begun to heal itself. Taking a deep breath, Alex told her story.

"I was in love, of course. She was my second love. Most people remember and cherish their first love more, but for me, the second time around meant more. I honestly thought she was 'the one'. She even told me herself that she would never let me go. Before we broke up, I spent a week with her at her home. I thought that she was going off me, but that was just my anxious and suspicious mind flaring up. She sat me down and told me that I should never doubt the love she had for me and trust that she wanted to be with me forever. I left to go home after a week and noticed that she didn't reciprocate the hug I gave her. It hurt so much, but I put that down to her not wanting to display affection in public. We exchanged texts until I was on the train at Charing Cross. I didn't get a single reply to any text or phone call for ten days after that. When she did text me, it was evasive and cryptic. Two lines about her being busy and apologising. We had a phone conversation but she was… indifferent. I didn't hear from her for another ten days. When she came back to Kent to resume her degree, we met up every Sunday, but she didn't appear to be interested anymore. The last Sunday we were together, she didn't touch me all day and didn't kiss me goodbye when I dropped her off home. She had also not said 'I love you' since I returned home, only 'you too' when I said it to her. She also seemed like it was more important to her to go clubbing, when she didn't really like to before. This was not the woman I fell in love with. I knew that something wasn't right. I broke down in tears at work and I texted her that night asking what was wrong. She didn't respond for hours, so I called her.

"We both cried on the phone. She wanted out of the relationship. This was because I was her first everything, even her first kiss. It was like I had initiated her and now she wanted to go onto pastures new. I felt like an experiment. She even told me that she never loved me, she just thought she did. But then, she'd say that she did love me and never lied when she said these words. So I never knew what the real answer was. Her head had been turning and she felt this way the last day that we spent together at her home. What made me angry was that she picked at me for not knowing how to use a digital camera and that I didn't know how the London underground worked. I mean, the last camera I used was a bog-standard Kodak when I was eleven – so of course I'm not going to know the anatomy of a digital camera if someone shove it in my hand! I had also never used the tube, but I learned it pretty quickly. Basically, she implied I was stupid and this was a reason to end the relationship!

"To this day, I still don't know why she dumped me. Her explanations were full of inconsistencies and conflicts. One of the reasons she gave was that she wanted to explore and fool around, like teenagers do, but she met someone else two weeks after we broke up and she seemed to delight in telling me. Also, how good they were and how compatible. I wasn't as good as someone, not as clever, not as sexy and I didn't do it for her anymore! That really hurt.

"Six months afterwards, just as I got published, we tried to be friends and she told me something that she had not told me before. There was a main reason why she broke up with me, but she cared too much to tell me. She didn't need to say it. I knew what it was."

Amanda crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair, studying her patient.

"You think that she was cheating on you with the new girlfriend?"

"Yes, and no. Whether or not she slept with this girl is irrelevant to me. She may have already met her, just after she returned to university or before she broke up for summer. She may have flirted with her, kissed her even. Or, they may not have seen much of each other at all. Cheating or not, I'm convinced that she left me for her.

"It was as if she was laughing at me. At how pathetic I was loving her. That I somehow deserved her harsh words and was so stupid that I needed to be told. It was as if I had done her such a wrong and needed punishing. Well, if it is a crime to love someone with all my heart – I'm guilty as charged."

"Do you still love her?"

"I still love, and always will love, the woman I fell in love with. My girlfriend, my rock, the one I could be myself around and be content with. The woman I saw at the end of that summer period had changed. As if she had either shown me her true colours, or she had died and someone was 'wearing' her, posing as her, making those who loved the dead girl pay for it. I lost my heart to her completely. That's where I faltered. Someone once told me that when you fall in love, don't give it all away. They can do with what they will and some people can be cruel, heartless bastards. Keep a bit for yourself. I gave her my whole heart, and I'll never have back that little piece. Just 5% or so, but it is still a little piece. I won't be doing the same thing again, purely because I don't have a whole heart to give."

Amanda acknowledged Alex's speech with a nod and once again seemed as if she wanted to know more.

"Is it the pain of the break up that you are not over, or have you just not grieved enough for the loss of the love of your life?"

This was it. The thing that made her wounds bleed again. Tears started for the first time in the therapy session and like a waterfall, they would not stop. Amanda handed her a box of tissues.

"I guess… I'm still mourning for her. Why did she have to leave? Or why did she have to change. She was perfect the way she was. The woman who returned to university was vindictive, spiteful and malicious. Not my girlfriend. She would never have done that to me."

"What about the pain that the hurtful words and the revelation that she may have cheated on you?"

"I think that too is still raw. Even if I meet her again in 50 years' time, I'll ask her if she cheated on me. If she were to say yes, I'd probably feel a dagger penetrate my chest all those years later."

Alex then recanted on the sudden high she felt shortly after the text from her ex, when her agent called her with the wonderful news that a publisher wanted to accept her. It happened so quickly and meeting Sherlock and John was the best thing that could ever have occurred. She even had to admit that she felt closer to Mrs Hudson than her own mother. Alex's mother was supportive of her writing, but thought that she would do better continuing to work in the office job she had. Mrs Hudson always wanted to read Alex's writing and was her number one fan. She even got Alex to sign her copy of the first novel especially.

The hour was up very quickly. They would meet again for two more sessions before it would become chargeable.

Stepping outside in the rain, Alex stopped under the entrance canopy to wait for the showers to pass. People were opening umbrellas or using newspapers and briefcases to shield their faces, dashing this way and that and taking refuge in shops.

The clinic was a twenty minute walk from Baker Street. Once the rain had subsided, as quickly as it came on, she strolled as solemnly as possible to her home. This doubled the time of her journey and if she had bumped into her own mother, she would not have known. All that was on her mind was a pendulum that swung between the wonderful times that she and her ex spent together and the feeling of having her heart ripped out.

Mrs Hudson was in the lobby hoovering when she walked in and screamed as soon as she saw Alex's flushed, teary face. Alex winced at the sound, trying to free her head from the hands that had clamped it so tightly.

"Oh, Mrs Hudson, don't squeeze me!" Alex cried shaking herself free of her landlady's grasp.

"Sorry, darling, I just want to know if you're ok!"

"I'm fine, thanks. It's ok, you don't need to worry." Alex made her way to her flat as quickly as possible, secretly hating herself for rejecting an offer of help. But the counselling had given her the help she needed for the day and now she was on her own.

Little was she down the stairs of her basement flat when her door received a knock.

"Please, Mrs H, I want to me on my own!" Alex called up. There was no answer, just another knock. Swearing under her breath, she pulled the door open as harshly as she had the night that John had come to her. Sherlock was standing outside her door, suited and booted and shiny as a new penny. Alex felt filthy in comparison on her jeans and t-shirt. Why did he always have to look so immaculate?

"What do you want?" Alex demanded of the detective.

"Oh, just to ask if you're free this evening? Thefts at a hotel in Lewisham, many suspicious guests, should be a nine, possibly a ten if we're lucky."

Alex wasn't sure if she wanted to go anywhere that night. Emotionally and physically exhausted, all she wanted was chocolate, tea and Will & Grace episodes.

"I'm not sure…"

"Come on, you declined the last case. It'll be fun, I hope."

"Is John going to come along?" Alex asked.

"No, he's seeing a rather boring teacher who's two point four inches taller than him. Or is that just her hair..?" He trailed off.

"Ok, Sherlock, I'll come with you. What time?"

"At eight. Mycroft has agreed to have his chauffeur take us there. The police are cleaning out the rooms and questioning the guests and staff as we speak."

Checking her watch, Alex saw that she had three and a half hours. A shower and dinner was in order but she wanted to spend those precious hours alone. She gave an affirmative gesture and was finally in her home with no sounds, nothing to distract her, nothing to taunt her already galloping mind.

Sitting on her sofa staring into space for an hour, she let the silence seduce her. Alex's limp body relaxed completely into the sofa, letting its fluffy softness support her.

After tumbling through streets and roads she didn't recognise, Alex found herself in a two bedroomed terrace, with bright coloured bricks and a very small brick wall in front of the bay window at the front.

It was a house she had never been in before. Where did it come from? Not from something she had seen on telly, not from another house that was similar. Pacing around the dull, yet cosy, living room, she suddenly became aware of someone else's presence.

Turning about, she looked down at the terracotta sofa, seeing the person perched on it. It was her ex-girlfriend. As fresh faced and beautiful as the day she left, the day she became someone else. Alex could tell it was the same person. Her eyes were bright and dazzling as they ever were.

Remembering a particular night when neither could sleep, she noticed how shiny her girlfriend's eyes were in the rays of the lamp glowing through from the path outside.

Sitting on the sofa, her ex smiled affectionately, leaving Alex with a melancholy feeling of warmth and comfort. But still, the pain of knowing that this was someone she could not have back was too much to bear. Taking the chair opposite, Alex was face to face with her former lover, wanting that moment to be real.

In that moment, she knew that this was the time to end these feelings.

Taking her ex's hand and holding it with both of her own, Alex let her heart speak the truth.

"If you need to leave, please leave. I need to move on and I'm sure you want to."

With that, the answer came without a verbal reply, but a simple gesture of acquiescence. Her ex stood up slowly, taking one last gaze at Alex, her beam changing to a sombre expression of farewell.

Alex observed as the woman rotated and walked towards the mahogany and glass front door, opened it, walked out, and closed it behind her.

Alex parted the netting of the bay window to see the opposite road ascending from the one her house was on. Traffic could be seen flitting this way and that at the end of the road. The paths were lined with parked cars outside terraced houses.

Her ex-girlfriend appeared outside the window, but did not once turn around. Checking the road, she crossed it and walked down the opposite road, not looking back. Alex placed her palm on the glass, wanting to call out, wanting her to come back, but her own willpower had finally won the battle and stopped her from letting a single word out.

The woman continued walking until she was at the end. But, before she turned the corner, she did take one last look at Alex, who was not doing anything to stop water cascading down her face.

"Goodbye, darling." She whispered. As if her ex could hear her, she nodded, and turned to disappear around the corner.

Hugging her own arms, Alex made her way to the sofa, to the indentation in the cushion where the love of her life had sat and took her place.

Slumping back into it, she let her mind take her away again.

As if awaking from a very pleasant sleep, Alex found herself back in 221c, wide awake and alert. Refreshed, like her mind had cleansed itself.

Recalling her conversation with Sherlock, she pulled her body off the sofa and into the shower. Trying to make her presentation as decent as Sherlock always did in his suits, she applied some make up and twisted her long, blonde hair so that she could pin it behind her head.

Getting everything she needed, by the time she was in the lobby, waiting for Mycroft's chauffeur to turn up, she found herself side by side with the world's only consulting detective, looking as dapper and elegant as ever.

"Alex." Sherlock acknowledged.

"Sherlock. Ready?"

He gave her a look that clearly said that she didn't need to ask.

"Oh, yes! The game is on!"

**Thank you for reading. I really, really, really would appreciate your views on this. Love to Sherlock fans, let's make the next 12 months fly by. X**


	24. Diamonds In The Midst Part One

**Thanks for reading the last 23 chapters, time for another case. Some inspiration for this case from The Blue Carbuncle, which I do not own – is a wonderful story by ACD.**

Alex certainly couldn't deny that she always felt an intense jolt in her heart whenever she accompanied Sherlock on a case. Watching Sherlock Holmes strut his stuff on the job had become a secret guilty pleasure, but she was never going to divulge this to the detective. Oh no. This would cause his oversized head to explode!

She groaned a little as Sherlock roughly slid into the seat next to her in the car, causing it to rock uncomfortably. Alex showed her discontentment further when Sherlock nudged her carelessly as he withdrew his mobile, by letting out a loud "oi!" Sherlock ignored this as if Alex was a ghost with no influence on the material world and with a hard, concentrated stare, he carefully read a long text on the screen of his iPhone, flicking his finger over the screen swiftly. No doubt his superior mind would absorb the words rapidly as if it were a dry sponge that had been placed in shallow water.

It was a wet and cloudy day and the perfect weather to explore a hotel. Alex had visited a remote hotel in her childhood and was lost in the captivation of how the rain battered the windows, and how the lightning and thunder caused the building to rock slightly. Thinking about it as the car drove off with her and Sherlock Holmes contained within it, she knew that it was a perfect day for a murder mystery.

Except, this was not a murder mystery.

After Sherlock had read the long text, he deemed it time to enlighten his colleague.

"A guest staying at the hotel in question, Sarah Caister, reported her diamond and silver necklace missing earlier today. It was locked in the safe in her room. She checked it this morning before going to the hotel's restaurant for breakfast and when she went to retrieve it at twelve noon, it was missing. Sarah is from Aldershot and came to London to meet a jeweller. She was hoping that the jeweller would value the necklace and buy it from her."

"Did she manage to get it valued before it went missing?" Alex asked.

"Yes. Yesterday. The jeweller valued it at £750,000. The man was due to pick it up today. An hour before Miss Caister reported it missing."

Alex's mouth fell open when Sherlock announced the value of the necklace. It must have been a beauty.

Sherlock was lost in thought as he kept his gaze looking out of the window, balling his hand in a fist as if he were filtering through files and databases, trying to hit the right note. His face was tense, his jaw clenched.

Recalling one of John's blog entries, Alex felt a sense of confusion.

"Hang on a minute, Sherlock! You were once offered a case of finding a missing diamond and declined. Why now, why this particular item?"

Sherlock had an insatiable appetite for interesting cases, and surely, if this case wasn't interesting, he would never have agreed to take it on. He slowly turned his head to face Alex, grinning from ear to ear. His voice came out in a deep, growling whisper.

"Because the jeweller says that he did meet with Sarah Caister, handed her cash for the necklace and now, the item is on show in his shop. He only paid half a million to her, so she was either eager to get rid of it or she was in desperate need of money. The problem is, there are no CCTV or eye witness accounts to take into consideration, nothing to prove that the money did indeed switch hands. He has no alibi for not being present at the hotel to steal the item and definitely has motive."

The detective was relishing in the details of the case as if he were a chocoholic eating the finest Belgian collection after a week of abstaining. There was unquestionably a force that Sherlock fed off that the bizarre crimes oozed. Alex was transfixed by the workings of his mind. His beautiful and fascinating mind. She often longed to experience it for herself, but was internally happy and grateful to have the mind she did. A creative and reflective brain that could see the world as a blank canvas, but at the same time a painting or sculpture with clues and codes to investigate and tear apart. There was more to explore in a bare room than there was in a vast mansion filled with clutter.

Once outside the silvery-grey hotel in Lewisham, Sherlock and Alex were as ever vexed by the presence of Anderson and Donovan on duty. Donovan walked several paces away from Alex when she saw her, avoiding eye contact. The two police officers patrolled the outside of the large stone building, without exchanging a word and looking as if there were better things to do and only stayed in their positions purely out of obligation. It was as if water had been poured over them when they saw Sherlock and Alex slide out of the police car.

The hotel was clearly from the Victorian era. Gothic almost. Sash windows dotted the outside of the place with oak panes. It almost looked as if it should have an opening at the front for a small train to stop at to take children on a tour of its dark and ominous interior. Alex noticed that Sherlock was instantly absorbing and downloading information as soon as they even drove up the tarmacked drive, his eyes scanning and examining. He was analysing more and more as they advanced on the hotel, his expression alternating though different processes of thought as quickly as his eyes checked his surroundings.

The green grounds were swarming with both guests and staff, the latter of which could be distinguished from their dark purple and white badges, as well as the same coloured overalls of the housekeeping team. Gazeboes had been erected and an old looking marque to shelter everybody from the rain.

"Are all the guests out of the hotel? The staff as well?" Sherlock asked Lestrade.

"Yes, they are and the room has been given the once over by forensics. Anderson!" Lestrade called to the man he needed who approached with caution. Sherlock's body language betrayed his well-known disdain for Anderson, who mutually despised the detective. Alex had believed for a long time that this was purely out of jealousy for the man who could do Anderson's job a million times better than him in a matter of seconds with less than half of the equipment that forensics would use. Clearing his throat and averting his eyes from Sherlock, who had taken a step back, he turned over some leafs of paper that were attached to a clipboard.

"Um, fingerprint analysis shows that only Sarah's prints were on the safe; the body, the door, the locking mechanism. Looks like she did meet up with the jeweller after all and is trying to get the necklace back as well as get away scot-free with the cash."

"Sound analysis, Anderson. Excellent." Sherlock said cheerfully. However, Alex could tell that his words were spoken with acrimony oozing from his lips.

"…Really?" Anderson asked, looking shooked. Could Sherlock really have complimented him? Alex braced herself.

"Yes, really. But did you search her room for the money and find it? No. Did you search the entire hotel and find it? No. Have you checked the perimeters and neighbouring hotels? No. Seriously, we'll have better luck if a dog were doing your job!"

"Enough, Sherlock!" Lestrade ordered. He ushered Sherlock into the hotel following an attempted icy retort from Anderson. This was partly thwarted by his superior and a devious grin from Sherlock. Alex shook her head and muttered a grudging apology to Anderson before following the two detectives into the colossal structure.

Sherlock and Alex were shown immediately to Sarah Caister's room. It was on the third floor in the west wing. Sherlock had seemed to perform pirouettes in the corridors, deducing and memorising the routes, bends, turns and accesses to the floors. Alex wondered why he hadn't questioned the occupant of the room yet. Surely he could tell if someone was lying about their whereabouts?

Alex considered asking him whether this would be the best course of preliminary action and was about to voice her opinion before Lestrade announced that they were indeed at the room in question.

The hotel interior was mostly red, gold and black. Not unlike the home that Liam, the friend of the Parkers, lived. The doors to the rooms were black, obviously been painted several times, the frames and all. Only the door handles (traditional door knobs, none of the modern card key mechanisms) and the door numbers were the brightest things that could be seen down the dimly lit corridors.

"Hmm… She was planning on being here for several days. She's wealthy but her money is dwindling, hence the compulsion to sell her necklace. Obviously an heirloom, left to her no doubt by her mother or grandmother. She's moderately untidy by the state of the dressing table but would not leave items of clothing all over the place normally…"

"Ok, so, how did you work that out?" Lestrade asked. His arms were folded across his chest and his face was a picture of cynicism. He shot a look to Alex and then back to the consulting detective, the latter gestured for Alex to come to his side.

Hesitantly, Alex obeyed. She saw that Sherlock had swiped a rather pretty looking pink hat from the dressing table. Alex looked over the room and saw that many items of clothes and accessories, mostly strewn all over the place, were pink or brightly coloured. Heaps of make-up covered the dressing table sporadically but not in a messy fashion. A high maintenance woman in her twenties? Alex thought.

"This" Sherlock said as he gestured to the hat before placing it in Alex's hands, "is a hat by Gucci, three years old and been worm regularly. Sarah uses Gucci Homme, I can tell by the smell, and has rather expensive tastes. However, the hat is the newest one in this room and it is showing its signs of age. Can you see the wear here, Alex?"

Sherlock pointed to the inside of the hat at the edges where the stitching had frayed. She nodded and examined the item further. It had been re-stitched at certain points! She relayed this to the detectives in the room as if she had experienced an epiphany.

"That's right, it's over four years old and she has not bought a newer one since. She is selling the item to keep her in the lifestyle to which she had become accustomed and doesn't wish to keep hold of her heirloom for sentimental reasons. Either she or someone else had searched this room, which is odd because the necklace would only be kept in the safe which is in a prominent position in the room. There is no way she would leave the room without checking that her precious necklace was safe and sound, which reminds me…"

Sherlock quickly made his way to the safe and with plastic gloved hands, appraised the iron box carefully. He took more care in viewing the safe door that bore the signature remnants of fingerprint powder. Alex and Lestrade moved in closer to take a look at the door. An expert eye was required to examine the fingerprints and Sherlock knew that Anderson would not be the one to do it.

"I need to speak to Miss Caister and the jeweller first. Then, if you would be so good, Detective Inspector, I need the fingerprint data."

"Yes to the first but absolutely no way to the second. I trust Anderson when he says that the fingerprints are Sarah Caister's, so there's no point looking at them again!" Lestrade had raised his voice unnecessarily high at this point. Alex felt compelled to ask him to lower it, but she didn't have the guts to. Whilst most people found Sherlock intimidating, Alex knew him well and never walked on eggshells with him. The DI was different. She didn't know him. Sherlock, on the other hand, felt himself to be superior to almost everyone.

"Lestrade, I couldn't care less about Anderson's feeble attempts at crime solving! I am telling you, I need the fingerprint data to take it to Bart's and examine them properly! Please."

This was a stand-off between the two men in the rather girly and messing hotel room. Alex seemed to find her courage.

"Please can you not shout? Lestrade, it might be best if Sherlock gives the prints the once over, just in case. Two pairs of eyes are better than one. Would that be agreeable?"

They stared at Alex in amazement. Her little speech was made in the softest voice she had but with a pleading that could not be ignored. Lestrade hesitated for a while. Sherlock gave Alex a 'thank you' nod before training his eyes back to Lestrade. Sighing noisily, he wiped his brow and admitted defeat.

"Fine. Make sure you report to me as soon as possible, Sherlock. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly, Inspector. Thank you."

Despite the harsh words that were exchanged, there was clearly no bad feeling between them. Lestrade respected Sherlock too much and needed him far too much to allow animosity to grow. Sherlock knew as well that having Lestrade on his side was a bonus for he was the only member of the Met who allowed Sherlock to assist in cases! The three of them made their way outside and Sherlock was introduced to Sarah Caister, who was waiting in a police car. He was certain not to question her at the scene and would do so at the station.

The police had no evidence to charge her yet, but they had taken the jeweller in for questioning. Sherlock and Alex got back into the police car they had arrived in and behind the car that held Sarah, they drove to Scotland Yard.

Sherlock was, of course, silent for the whole journey. In between Sherlock keeping his gaze out of the window with a colourless expression, the rain and the droning of the engine, Alex felt quite sleepy. She rested her cheek against the smooth band of the seat belt and closed her eyes.

It seemed like only seconds afterwards that she received a jab to her ribs and the sound of a deep male voice interjecting her name sharply penetrated her peaceful calmness. Alex came out of her dreamless sleep to find the car parked adjacent to Scotland Yard, still looking as towering and majestic as it did the day that Sherlock took her there.

Except, the last time she was there, it had been night-time, and she had been taken around the side of the building to the basement gym where she and Donovan settled their differences. The memory made her cringe now, especially after the telling off she received from John and Sherlock later that night.

"The jeweller, Mr Arthur Salisbury, is in custody. He hasn't been arrested yet, but we had enough evidence to bring him in."

Lestrade escorted them through the police station to the interrogation room, where a man of about sixty, in a dark green trench coat was sat. Alex could only see him through the crack in the door and wasn't allowed to accompany Sherlock in. She felt perturbed by this. Why couldn't she go with him? Would John be allowed to? Would it be because he was a man and an army doctor?

Alex huffed and sighed when Lestrade told her to stay in the staff room, several questions coursing through her head. Well, at least she was permitted to enter the staff quarters.

"Help yourself to a drink, Alex, we'll come and get you when Sherlock's done!"

Before Alex could question the DI as to why she was being treated like a child, he had disappeared, no doubt wanting Sherlock to not begin his questioning of the jeweller without Lestrade being present.

Alex was bored within seconds. The staff room was practically deserted and there was no reading material for her to occupy her mind with. The tea from the machine was rank so she emptied it into a flower pot.

However, Sherlock wasn't long questioning Mr Salisbury and Miss Caister and he had overtaken Lestrade in the corridor to burst into the staff room.

"All done, Alex! Time to go to Bart's. Come on, now, hurry up!" He called as he strode through the corridor to exit the building. Alex had to run to catch up with him. Lestrade called from the other end of the hall to remind Sherlock to inform him immediately of the findings of his investigation into the fingerprints.

"Why wasn't I…" Alex began.

"Allowed into the interrogation room?" Sherlock concluded her sentence. "Lestrade runs a very high risk permitting me to even come here. So only I was able to visit our two suspects, I'm afraid."

"Oh…" Was all that Alex could say. This made sense, but there was an awful lot that Sherlock needed to explain. So much she didn't know.

"Arthur Salisbury is adamant that the woman he met yesterday and the day before, were one and the same person, Miss Caister. She was wearing different clothes, obviously, but the same person no less. He met her at The Lion's Den pub on both occasions, the first time at the front of the pub, in full view and the second time in the garden. Of course, we have had considerable amounts of rain in the last few days, and the grass was wet and muddy. When I went in to see her in the interrogation room, the first thing I observed was that there were no mud marks on her shoes. No splatter up the leg of her tights at all. But there are no eye witnesses to the second meeting."

The man was lost in thought in the back of the cab they shared on the way to Bart's. Alex had become used to Sherlock giving small pieces of information at once, detracting, pausing, diverting and even disregarding whatever he was talking about suddenly. Often mid-sentence.

"I don't get it, Sherlock. If her fingerprints are on the safe, and the jeweller swears that it was definitely Sarah Caister with whom he met, surely the case is closed? Anyone who takes something from a safe would wear gloves."

Sherlock recited the final word of her speech simultaneously with her, smirking as if to say that he had already thought of, and discarded this concept.

"I saw the safe and the fingerprint marks. Gloves would have smudged the prints and the evidence would have been clear. The prints on the safe were made within 24 hours, several times. Inference, the safe was opened twice that day. Apparently by the same person. But if Miss Caister really wanted to make her story so convincing, she would have fabricated evidence or taken care to not incriminate herself. All we have is her word for it."

"You believe her?" Alex asked. She then considered her question and thought it stupid to ask.

"Absolutely. I can tell when someone is lying." Sherlock sneered as if he were telling Moriaty himself that he had figured out a deception.

"So the jeweller is lying?" Alex asked. She was becoming more and more confused and she was sure that a headache would be the result of such a baffling case.

"No." Was all that Sherlock Holmes had to say to this.

"Oh for God's sake! What then?" Alex exclaimed. Sherlock hummed a laugh at her obliviousness before speaking again.

"The fingerprints will tell all!"

**Once again, thank you for reading. I love doing the 'case' chapters, but I think at some point I will try my hand at using canonical works to adapt one of the short stories into something that could happen with a modern day Holmes. This could take some work, so please bear with me.**

**Love to all readers and although I don't like begging for reviews, I would greatly appreciate any comments you may have. See you soon! X**


	25. Diamonds In The Midst Part Two

**Continuation of the story. This takes a bit of inspiration from The Man With The Twisted Lip, which I do not own.**

It was difficult for Alex to keep up with Sherlock's long legs that carried his lanky figure as it sauntered to the lab at Bart's. She had to run several times and almost skidded when Sherlock stopped abruptly. Molly had just exited the mortuary and had almost collided with the detective as she turned the corner. She yelped and stared wide eyed at the man in front of her. After recovering from her shock that left her looking like a startled bunny, smiling coyly, she instantly went gooey. She clutched her clipboard as if it were a lifeline.

"Ah, Molly! Need to use the lab for a bit, if you don't mind. Not sure how long. I may need to look online for some information, too. I would use my microscope at home but this one's better."

Without waiting for an answer, he had waltzed past her and headed into the lab with the tiny pathologist reverting to her uncanny resemblance to a rabbit caught in the headlights. She watched Sherlock eagerly as he passed through the wooden door. Alex was just as peeved as Molly at his audaciousness, but still this didn't surprise either of them.

"W-what's he doing today?" Molly asked Alex. She was still clutching her file at her chest as if afraid it would escape. She had a tendency to close herself physically around Sherlock. Alex really wanted to shake her sometimes.

"Oh, he needs to look at some fingerprints. Why he can't find out what he needs just by looking at the prints from the pictures without the microscope I don't know. He seems to have microscopic vision anyway."

"Fingerprints from where?" Molly asked.

Alex filled her in on the whole story; the lady who owned the necklace, the strange notion that she was conspiring to fake a robbery to either claim it back or on insurance. They remained in the corridor the whole time, Alex remembering at certain intervals that Sherlock would expect her in the lab soon. Or he may not care.

Molly often seemed to enjoy and very much appreciate anything that took her mind off the man of her dreams, especially when she went into an almost shocked state at the sight of him.

After five minutes, she was back to the sweet, girly, lovely Molly.

"Listen, um, do you want to come over to my flat tonight? I'll order a takeaway and if you want, you can, um, stay over? Like a girls' night in? I've got some new DVDs that I haven't watched yet."

"Yeah, I would, Molly, but that all depends on the case. If I can't tonight, I will tomorrow. Why haven't you watched the DVDs?" Alex asked the pathologist.

"Well, I, um… they're romantic comedies and I was kinda hoping…" Molly couldn't finish.

Alex eyed her keenly, thinking hard, trying to apply the Holmes method.

"…Because you were hoping to…watch them with Sherlock?" Alex asked. Molly looked like she could have cried. Alex instantly felt sorry for her.

"I know. It's heart-breaking when you love someone who doesn't love you back."

Molly couldn't reply to that. They just smiled at each other for a few seconds. Molly seemed to snap out of it and came to her senses.

"You know on my blog where I said that my friend Meena said that a girl in her thirties needs either a gay best friend or a cat? I got the cat…" Alex laughed at this, remembering Molly's cute white and tabby cat Toby and his pretty green eyes.

"I like to think I also have a gay best friend now." Molly said softly and honestly. Alex felt like her eyes were welling up.

"Well, maybe Meena meant a male gay best friend."

"Maybe!" Molly laughed, "But that doesn't matter."

Alex was feeling her accumulated loneliness ebb away with each word that Molly spoke. She didn't have any close friends in Kent and although Sherlock and John were close friends, she longed to have a best friend. It was almost a foregone conclusion that they were best friends given their eventful holiday in the New Forest, but it had never been official.

Coming back to the moment, Alex gestured to Molly that it was best that she join Sherlock in the lab.

Sherlock was already up to his eyeballs in fingerprints. He had made copies of the originals and had cut them up very finely.

"The fingerprints, Alex!" Sherlock cried the second Alex's head peeped around the wooden door. She just stood there, waiting for more words to come but they didn't. Sherlock's view had gone back to the microscope, eyeing the prints fervently.

"What about them?" Alex called out across the room as she slowly walked over.

"I thought that this was the case and I was RIGHT!" Sherlock shouted, banging his fist on the table with the last word, making the contents shake.

"Well, you usually are!" Alex said. She was almost level with the detective now.

"See here," he said, showing her several copies of fingerprints, "they are not all Sarah's. They appear the same but there are difference, small and subtle. Twelve to be exact although I won't bore you with all the details. You remember a couple of months back? When I obtained those fingers from the mortuary?"

Alex cast her mind back.

"Err… yes they were fingers from…" her voice trailed off as she realised, "oh my God, Sherlock!" Their eyes bore into each other's for a minute before they quickly picked up what they needed and took a cab back to the hotel.

The place was still barricaded up, but the staff had been allowed back into the hotel to ensure that it was in the best condition for the guests.

Sherlock didn't wait for someone to tell him that he could go into the hotel; he just continued walking up the path and into the reception without hesitation. He gestured several times with his hand for Alex to keep up. She was sure to dodge the attempt to stop her from entering the building by one of the hotel staff. Another had tried to accost Sherlock but he was too quick for them.

Lestrade was the only member of the police force in the hotel, waiting at reception. No doubt Sherlock had texted the DI to request his presence.

Once inside, Sherlock asked that he and Alex spoke in private with Lestrade. The three of them made their way to a quiet corner of the dining room, away from prying ears.

"What's all this about?" Lestrade demanded, a little louder than necessary, as they took up a few seats around an inconspicuous table.

"Shh! I have the solution right here." Sherlock said as he extracted the pictures and stealthily handing them to Lestrade.

"Sorry, what? I don't get it." He said after examining the items.

"Well, of course you don't. Most people can't see the obvious." Sherlock partially whispered.

"Lestrade, Sherlock did an experiment a couple of months ago on the fingerprints of identical twins. Whilst twins are genetically identical, their fingerprints do have some small differences." Alex cut in. Sherlock made no attempt to stop her.

"Identical twins?!" The Detective Inspector proclaimed in disbelief. "What 'small differences.'"

"Look at the example on that page," Sherlock said as he grabbed the relevant leaf of photo paper, "The lines are similar, almost the same but they do not match up. The pressure marks are different as are the emphasis on the points of the prints. Then, there are the residues, clearly the twin works with her hands and handles chemicals, that's why…"

"Alright, Sherlock!" Lestrade shouted out, frustrated by the arrogance of the man. He just wanted Sherlock to hit the nail on the head.

"Who is this 'twin'?"

This was the million dollar question and Sherlock was determined to be as evasive and mysterious as ever. A smile that could only be described as devious and cunning spread across his face before he spoke again.

"That, Inspector, is where our search begins!"

"What do you mean, Sherlock?" Alex asked as he swivelled on the spot. He revolved again to face her comically. He was definitely treating the occasion like a performance.

"The 'twin' is here. In this very hotel. Come with me."

Alex and Lestrade gawped at one another but resigned themselves to following the consulting detective out of the dining room, through the corridor to the ballroom. There were several members of staff milling around, cleaning the floors, straightening the curtains and making sure the chairs had no dust on them whatsoever. Sherlock seemed lost for a moment, looking for the illusive twin. He clenched his jaw in frustration.

"What is it?" Lestrade asked.

"She was in here earlier. I saw her walk in! Hold on."

Sherlock marched straight out and through some more halls towards what could only be described as a laundrette.

"Where are you?" The detective whispered as he fumbled over the heaps of white sheets.

Before long, a young woman of about thirty came into view. She was crouching over a pile of washing, masses of it bundled in her arms. She wore the purple attire that the hotel expected of her, her brown hair in a bunch behind her head. Was this woman they were looking for? She certainly didn't look like Sarah Caister, from what Alex had seen of her. But her face was so well hidden behind elaborate layers of make-up.

She looked shocked. Very shocked to see the three strange people staring at her. In a fit of panic, she dropped the laundry and made a break for it, dodging the baskets of linen and clothing, launching herself into the hall, where Sherlock was close to catching her.

"Stop her!" He called out, Lestrade echoing his words. Alex was the last to catch up when a porter had successfully restrained the girl. So rough had he been that the woman collapsed in a heap in his arms, exhausted from the struggle and dazed by an obvious knock to her head from the sudden grab. The tall, lanky porter let the girl gently lie on the floor, while Lestrade got a cushion for her head. It was pointless putting her in the recovery position for she was breathing rapidly. She would come round any moment.

"A sponge, please porter, and some water. Quickly!" Sherlock ordered the gentleman who had stopped the woman.

He was back in minutes with the required items, which Sherlock set to work with instantly.

"Observe, Inspector, Alex. This is Sarah Caister's twin."

With the wet sponge, he glided it down her face, removing the powdered mask and the black lines around her eyes. He had been so careful in his actions that Alex barely noticed pieces of what she could only describe as 'flesh' coming off her skin.

The unconscious woman's face was false and when removed, showed a perfect replica of Sarah Caister. With one swift moment, Lestrade had removed the wig from the head, revealing identical long blonde hair as her sister.

Almost straight away, she came to. She tried to scream but was silenced by a gloved hand of Sherlock Holmes.

"I don't think that's a good idea, do you?" He said calmly. She relaxed and he removed his hand.

The two men helped her to her feet while Alex searched her for the necklace. It was concealed in her underarm of her bra, which Alex felt through her clothes. She told the DI where it was, who demanded the removal of it. The woman knew she was defeated and reluctantly handed it over.

It was certainly a gorgeous item. Worthy of being worn at one of The Queen's banquets, or aboard the Titanic at a first class dinner. Alex simply marvelled at how it sparkled in the dim light, whilst the consulting detective identified the woman.

"Inspector, meet Miss Maria Jenkins. Or Maria Caister. She is the long lost twin of Sarah Caister, whom she had no knowledge of."

After Lestrade made his arrest, Sherlock was permitted to search Maria's locker. She had acquired an identical outfit to Sarah, but a size smaller. Sarah was a size 14 and Maria was a size 12. Plus Sarah would have known if the outfit had gone missing, so a duplicate was necessary. Alex had accompanied him, eager to learn more. Of all the cases she had been part of, this had intrigued her most.

"So how did she do it?" This was all Alex needed to know. It was quite obvious why. Maria had obviously wanted an apportionment of her birth right and had taken it by deception.

"She had worked it all out carefully. She had stalked and even come within very close proximity to her twin on a few occasions without Sarah being any the wiser. With her latex mask and make up it would have been very easy to disguise the resemblance."

Alex knew she wouldn't get anything out of the detective until he had consulted with Maria and brought the findings to Sarah's attention. She would definitely be unnerved at the news that she had a twin.

Sherlock called Lestrade from his mobile. Alex thought that this was strange as the man usually texted people. But this warranted an urgent conversation.

"Lestrade. I wish to question her. There's some things I need to hear from her own mouth."

Sherlock exhaled slowly. He eyed Alex's keen face as he waited for Lestrade to respond. His expression broke into one of relief and elation as he uttered his thanks to the DI.

A cab ride to Scotland Yard later, Alex prepared herself to wait in the staff room again. No doubt she'd be bored yet anticipating Sherlock's answer with bated breath.

But as she approached the same door that she had been behind earlier that day, she heard Lestrade's voice call to her from outside the interrogation room.

"Yeah?" Alex answered. Lestrade nudged his head to indicate that her presence was required at his side.

Sherlock was poised just inside of the room with the door open, keeping his concentration on Lestrade and Alex.

"Go on, in you go." Lestrade said to Alex with an awkward smile. Alex smiled back with pleased gratitude and shook his hand.

"If anyone asks, Alex," he said as she took a step towards the room where Maria was, "I only allowed Sherlock in for two minutes. You were with me in the canteen, which is dead now so nobody will know if you were there or not. Ok?" He affirmed, still smiling. Alex reciprocated and went into the small room with Sherlock.

Only Sarah was present, with Donovan. Alex shifted when she saw her but they had fought out their rivalry months ago and now was not the time to dwell on it.

The area they occupied was just like Alex had seen on the telly. Tiny, grey and misty green. A space that epitomised the complete opposite of cosy with a plain table in the middle, surrounded by four rudimentary chairs. Much like the ones she would have sat on at school when in a lesson.

Sherlock placed his fingertips together with his elbows on the table as he often did in contemplation and asked Maria one simple question, very slowly:

"Tell us what happened, please."

Knowing she was beat, Maria explained her story.

"I was the first born of twins to Alice Caister, a single mother from Watford. She had been widowed without any pension or any means of financial support when she was six months gone with my sister and I. She made the painful decision of having one of her children adopted. Me."

This was clearly a raw subject for the woman and hard to talk about as her voice was on the verge of breaking, her expression resisting contortion into a state of agony. Sherlock urged her on.

"I was sent to Truro, where I was adopted by a family who were not well off, but very much a close and happy family. Their money dwindled and I was forced to start working at the age of 13. I had some shit jobs and my adoptive brother went into the navy when I was 14. My father retired early, but this was only an excuse. He just wanted to be a lay about. Struggling still, I left home at 15, making my own way in life. I lived in hostels, bedsits, with friends and even at shelters I was struggling so much. My mother called me on day and asked me to meet her. This was when I found out the truth of my birth and adoption. I was determined to track down my real family.

"The first I found out was that my real mother had died four years ago. But the biggest shock was that my sister had inherited vast sums of money and expensive items from our mother. I felt so awful that she should be the one to inherit the wealth that really I was entitled to being the first born. So I tried to get in touch via Facebook and even writing her a letter, but I received no response. But one day, I got a call from her. I had given my number in a letter.

"She said that she did not believe me and wanted me to leave her alone. Sarah had never been told that I existed. So I started to stalk her. I often paid her little 'visits', helping myself to her little stashes of cash to feed my campaign. I even got a better job in Hertfordshire to supplement my earnings so that I could pay for the disguises.

"When I found out about her intended trip to Lewisham, I sweet talked my way into her house, or rather _our_ house. The one our mother owned. We were born at a hospital, naturally, but this was the first home that I went to. I pretended to be a temporary housekeeper from the agency that Sarah used and I set to work over the period of a week finding a will, anything, that would let me know if I was ever entitled to anything.

"Most things I found just explained that Sarah and our younger sister by five years, Chloe, were entitled to the lion's share with the rest going to charity. I felt further aggrieved when I found that I had a younger half-sister. This was how my mother and sisters became rich. After marrying Chloe's father, my mother became his PA, made a mint, found out that he had been unfaithful and divorced him. However, she had retained half of the company. But there I was – still with the poor family, struggling to make ends meet.

"One day, I saw the part of the will that referred to the necklace. Expecting to find that it was left to Sarah, the will simply said that it was left to my mother's 'first born daughter.' Well, I felt so happy I could have jumped for joy! I kept my cool anyway and tried to think there and then how I could claim the item. I could have gone through the usual channels, however, I could not explain how I knew about the necklace. Then, I thought about Sarah's visit to Lewisham and wondered why she making a trip there. It was an appointment to see a jeweller.

"This seemed odd, but it made sense to me that the only item she would send to a jeweller would be the necklace! Why was she thinking of selling it? The answer came when she dismissed me from my services two days later, claiming she could no longer keep me. This was the answer. She had squandered her inheritance and now needed to sell or pawn the necklace to feed the lifestyle which she had so become accustomed to.

"I was well acquainted with her wardrobe at the end of the week of being her housekeeper and saw that she had already selected the choice outfits she would take to Lewisham. I found out that she had bought it from a Gucci catalogue so I ordered the same for me, in my own size, of course. The hotel she was staying at were applying for housekeeping staff, so assuming a different identity, I applied for a job and started the same day as the interview. I simply stated that I was in need of the money.

"I managed to wangle my way into cleaning her room every day. With my disguise, she never suspected it was me. In fact, she hardly looked me in the eye. Maybe she thought herself too high and mighty to be considered equal to a member of housekeeping! Anyway, she stupidly opened the safe there one day while I was in the room, revealing the first three digits of the code. I knew what it was with just those few digits. The date of our mother's death.

"Armed with the code, and details of the jeweller, I took the necklace and assuming her name and clothes, I met with the jeweller at the time she had agreed. Remember, she thought housekeeping staff were not on her wavelength, so she spoke with the jeweller on her phone with me present in the room, thinking that a simple maid couldn't care less!

"The jeweller did not notice the difference in our clothes, but I had deliberately picked an outfit that could easily be fleshed out and would conceal the difference in a dress size. But when you arrived at the hotel, Mr Holmes, I knew I had been defeated. I have heard about you and your methods. I thought that my prints would be the virtually same as my twin's, and the small tell-tale differences would not be obvious to the police. However, I know that they would have been obvious to you."

Sherlock had listened intensively at her story. Alex was struck dumb at the brilliance yet selfishness of Maria Jenkins.

"How did you know about me and my name, Mr Holmes?"

The detective took his eyes off the woman for the first time since the meeting began.

"I have… _connections_ in high places." He said. Alex knew he meant Mycroft.

"Also, there are several newspapers who archive their work and I found the story of the split twins using a top secret site. A site a connection in a very high place assisted me with."

Maria was so impressed that she could not speak. She even seemed pleased that she had been found out. It was almost as if her story had come full circle. She was more than willing to take whatever it was she would receive for her deceit.

Alex and Sherlock left the station after Sherlock had a quiet word with Lestrade. He walked calmly to a cab and even held the door open for Alex. She noticed the usual post-case gleam in his eye, the remnants of the passion he possessed as well as the satiation of solving a problem.

"Another case cracked, Sherlock. Any plans this evening?" Alex asked as she tried to make out any stars at all that could shine through despite the many city lights of London.

"I don't plan my evenings, Alex, but if I did I'd say that there are some experiments at home that I need to make some more observations of. You?"

"Going to have a girly night in with Molly. I think I have a bit of a story to tell her."

**Thank you again. REVIEW PLEASE!**


	26. The Watcher

**Alex goes home…**

Alex was greeted with so much enthusiasm from her mother at the station that she had to hide her face from the onlookers at how crimson she had gone. She despised being smothered in kisses and hugs in public by her mother but didn't have the heart to voice her objections.

"Oh, it's so wonderful to see you, sweetheart, I'm so proud of you!"

"Mum, can we just get off home, please? I'm really hungry and I hate train food."

Her mother acquiesced and drove them back to Alex's former home. It was a modest three bedroom semi, small gardens at the front and back. The apple tree in the front garden Alex had grown from three years back was void of fruit and looking rather dishevelled in the autumn climate. To add to the fact that it was the most dull and miserable day (there wasn't even a breeze), Alex was surely going to be spending the week at her Mum's either watching telly or reading. She had almost finished the first draft of her second novel and leaving the realm of the path that she often walked and ran down was a great way of recharging her batteries.

An obligatory cup of tea (made in a china teapot that Alex's mother got out for special occasions) later, plus some rich tea biscuits, she was ready to face Mum's gruelling questions.

She had already spent several hours perusing both Alex's and John Watson's blogs, familiarising herself with Sherlock Holmes and their 'adventures.'

By the end of it, Alex really felt like going back to London. She and her mother got on well when they spoke on the phone and visited one another for short intervals but three hours of questioning was much too much.

"I'm going up to my room, see you at dinner." Alex said as she departed the living room.

"Oh, Alex, I forgot to tell you: Mary and Barry next door are having a firework display tonight and they are doing a barbecue if you want to come. Save all the washing up after dinner."

Alex loved a barbecue, but hated fireworks. But she was willing to overlook their loud noises and people being so overwhelmed by their artificial beauty in favour of great barbecue food. It was the fourth of November, one day away from the bonfire and fireworks at the local sports centre grounds. She hadn't gone there in four years but she would be able to catch up with old acquaintances if she went. Plus, more barbecue food would go down a treat!

After more insufferable comments from her mother, Alex decided to take a long stroll around the estate she grew up in. It was drizzling slightly and most of the neighbourhood kids would be at home playing on their XBOXs and on social networking sites. Hands in her pockets, her feet slowly planting themselves on the pavement, she toured around the small, friendly area, memories flooding back everywhere she went.

Soon, she came to a clearing that looked very much like the one at the New Forest. It had a children's park nearby which was unoccupied. Taking a seat on one of the swings, she let herself completely relax for the first time in ages.

Deliberating over the previous five months, she was astonished at how much her life had changed. Not just living in Baker Street and being acquainted with Sherlock and John, but the toll her break up had taken, the subsequent book deal and the move had definitely alleviated any prospect of long-term boredom.

The park and field were eerily quiet, but Alex had a tingly feeling on the back of her neck that someone or something was watching her. Mycroft Holmes? No, he would be watching his little brother, plus there were no security cameras around. Just trees, grass, playground and the cloudy sky.

Breathing in the soothing air, she tried to get the creepy feeling out of her mind but found it ineffectual.

"It's just in my head, it's just in my head…" Alex repeated to herself.

Amongst the trees situated on the section of green between the playground and the road, Alex heard a twig snapping, followed by a mass exodus of blackbirds from a tree. They flapped away anxiously.

"Who's there?" Alex asked the evasive presence. Nothing. She disembarked the swing and paced cautiously to the green draped area, nervous to the point of shaking. Scarcely was she a couple of metres from the swing, she stopped. Shaking her hands out, she breathed out slowly, calming her body.

"Stupid… Don't be stupid, Alex." She muttered, turning about and walking briskly home, taking the odd look over her shoulder to check that she was decidedly alone.

"Oh, you weren't out long." Alex's mother cooed in her annoying soprano squeal.

"Duh, yeah, I know, I do have a watch!" Alex wanted to say in the most sarcastic tone feasible, but she knew not to rub her mother up the wrong way.

Flopping herself on the bed she hadn't slept in for over five months, Alex was starting to feel normal again. Her old room had been kept exactly as it had been, bar the luminous stars and planets she had stuck to the ceiling and walls. Alex loved to flood her old room with light and then dwell in the pitch black with the glow in the dark pieces of plastic showing off their glory. Her mother had thought her odd, but one thing Alex really loved about her old girl was that she genuinely understood her daughter's passion and stuck up for her when she was a child and was ridiculed by her aunts and uncles about her desire to sit and read rather than play cricket or musical statues in the garden. 'Silly buggers' Alex use to call it. She remembered with a clench of her fist the clip round the ear she received from her monster of an uncle when she said these two words as a seven year old, but smiled at the subsequent memory of her mother putting her older brother in his place and making him apologise.

"Cooey!" Said woman cried through the crack in the bedroom door.

"Yes, Mum?" Alex replied not removing herself from the bed nor her gaze from the ceiling. She heard the door open.

"I thought you might like to wear that lovely red blouse you wore to your book launch and that nice pair of pin striped trousers you…"

"Mum! I'm going to a barbecue! Not a dinner at a posh restaurant, a barbecue! I'll dress how I want." Alex snapped, sitting bolt upright.

Realising the impact of her harsh words, she felt a sensation of remorse sweep over her almost instantaneously. But this didn't negate the fact that her mother was exasperating to say the least.

"Sorry, Mum, I just don't see the point. The blouse and trousers will just get ruined by the smoke and ketchup and stuff."

Humming affirmatively, Alex's mother placed the clothes on the ottoman at the bottom of the bed.

"Ok, darling. I'm just trying to help, that's all."

"I know," Alex replied, "I'm not a child anymore and I'm only here for four days. I'll be ok in my jeans and hoody. I don't mind if they get dirty."

"Ok. I'll go round there at six, come round when you like." The mother said before leaving.

Alex observed her old room with a keen eye and found her old collection of DVDs, the ones she didn't want to take to London. Wanting to relax before the barbecue, she put on a DVD and thumbed vacantly through her old collection of Manga comics.

Her back to the door, she heard her mother re-enter, but she was not in the mood for chatting and didn't turn to speak. Whatever her mother did, Alex wasn't sure, but she vaguely heard some clothes being dumped on the bed. Absent-mindedly thanking her mother, Alex continued to read the old comics before realising that her room was rather dark.

Getting off the bed to turn on the light, she saw that some of the clothes and other objects she had unpacked downstairs were on the bed. Alex had pulled a lot of stuff out of her suitcase trying to find her sketchbook to show her mother earlier and, being an untidy person while living at home, her old habits returned and had left them down there.

By half past seven, Alex was in the back garden of her ex neighbour's house enjoying a hotdog. The fireworks weren't due to start until nine o clock and Alex was determined to fit in as much barbecue food as possible.

It was considerably cold outside that night and Alex took herself into the house to make a cup of tea, her mother sitting by the telly, watching Eastenders.

"Oh, thanks for bringing my clothes up earlier, sorry for being so untidy." Alex said taking a place besides the older woman.

"Err.. oh, no problem. Still think you would've looked nice in that suit, but anyway."

Alex hummed and sipped her tea, dismissing the comment but returning to it seconds later.

"No, I mean the other clothes and my books you brought up to my room later. You didn't have to, you could've asked me to get them. I should have got them anyway, sorry."

Alex's mother seemed considerate for a moment, confused even, before she replied.

"What books? I just brought up the red blouse and trousers."

"The ones you left on my bed. I got them out of my suitcase earlier."

"Oh _those_ books and clothes? No, darling, I didn't bring them up. I thought you did."

Alex's heart skipped a beat. Her mother may have been many things but certainly not one to forget events of the day.

"No… I heard you come in and felt the things being put on the bed…" Alex stuttered.

"Alex, I swear I didn't come into your room."

Shaken up, Alex clutched her hot cup, feeling numb to its searing heat.

"Are you alright, my love?"

Alex couldn't respond. The house definitely wasn't haunted. There was only one explanation. Someone got in. Someone went into her room, managed to get past her mother without being seen. That 'someone' obviously was risking it, because Alex could have turned around to see the visitor. She would have seen who it was.

"I need to go home." Alex said softly, leaving the house and entering her mother's so quick she was sure it had taken her less than half a minute to complete the task.

Bracing herself against the door, she looked around the dark kitchen, not noticing anything out of touch with the eerie silence.

Flipping on the switches in both the kitchen and living rooms, she felt better but on edge. Who was that person?

After a fitful sleep, Alex woke the next morning with the mysterious stranger in her mind. She wondered what Sherlock would do at a time of this. He would probably have deduced when, why, where and even who in a matter of minutes. Alex really didn't want to go through the possibilities. She had such a bad night that once the daylight penetrated her blue curtains, she felt more relaxed and let herself fall asleep again.

"Alex! I'm just going out, I'll see you later!"

Alex cursed as the shrill voice of her mother curled up the stairs and into her room, as loud as it could have been if she were there in the room. Quicker than she had ever been in her life, Alex darted out of her bed and, still hazy from sleep, crashed into a chest of drawers on her way to the door. Not minding the pain in her hip, she peered down the stairs and across the landing. Nobody there. Glancing at the clock, she had only been in a real deep sleep for 20 minutes. Rubbing her face and groaning with the ache in her head and neck as well as the throbbing in her hip, she resolved to getting a shower and out of the house as soon as possible.

By midday, Alex had arrived in Canterbury, a city she knew and loved well and a short distance from her home town. Strolling down the town centre, she felt remarkably safe and alone. It was odd that she felt safe in such a crowded place, sure that nobody was watching her. A strange contrast to feeling like her every move in the playground was being monitored. Mycroft's ways of surveillance was rather strategic and necessary (sort of), but this was sinister and devious. Alex often wondered if there was such thing as a sixth sense, or if it was just paranoia.

With £500 to spend, Alex visited the gothic shop where she had once had her navel pierced and bought some funky black t-shirts. The trip didn't last long and by evening, she was back in her mother's dull and boring home.

Now that she was sure that an ominous presence had made its way into her room, Alex was jumping at every movement she could see. This was madness! Checking her face in the mirror, which was flushed and her breathing erratic, she resolved to just staying for the bonfire at the local sports centre and going back to London the next day. She didn't want to bother Sherlock or John for the moment, but she would definitely mention the matter to Sherlock.

Wrapped in her winter gear and joining her ex neighbours as they walked to the sports centre, Alex could see that many people were carrying effigies, mostly dressed in jeans that were probably hand-me-downs. One good way of getting rid of your clothes, burn them in effigy, Alex thought to herself, rolling her eyes.

The bonfire was lit from all sides. Alex was sure that it was over twenty-five foot in height and double that in circumference. The sports centre green was huge, so they could accommodate a massive bonfire. It was sometime before the fireworks went off. Alex didn't mind the Catherine wheels so much, it was those damn rockets!

Most people had ventured closer to the heat. Alex stood back, near the food stall. She stood there for some time, not noticing the tingly feeling in her feet.

"Spectacular, isn't it?" Said a male voice beside her.

"What, the bonfire?" Alex asked the stranger. He had a large forehead, something of a widow's peak and very dark irises. The man nodded.

"Well, it's a lot of fire! I suppose it is spectacular."

"Did you see how many effigies there were? About twenty I reckon." The man said. Alex could hear that he had an Irish accent, shallow but distinct.

"Possibly." Alex replied. She didn't know this man, so she wasn't willing to engage in a deep and meaningful conversation.

"Jim." He said, stretching out his hand.

"Alex." She said in response. Alex continued to stare at the bonfire, but couldn't for long as its brightness was starting to make her eyes water. She couldn't see the man's face but had a feeling that his eyes were boring into her. Alex felt someone walk over her grave.

"So, are you from round here?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, grew up here." Alex was still not going to reveal too much of herself.

"But you live in London…" Jim said. The comment made the already uncomfortable Alex feel her heart begin to palpitate.

"H-how do you know that?"

"I think you know the answer to that, Alex."

Their eyes locked without once shifting. Alex didn't want to believe it, but she knew who this man was. Inside her mind, she repeated to herself that this wasn't him. Couldn't be. What would he want with her?

"Y-you're…" Alex stuttered, feeling faint. She wanted to run but she was rooted to the spot.

"Jim Moriaty, nice to meet you! Now, now," He said softly, walking towards Alex and taking her arm. It was as if his fingers were five daggers severing her nerves.

"I don't want to hurt you. Just want to have a chat, that's all."

Alex was near on having a panic attack, her breath short and sharp.

"I wouldn't think about screaming or calling for help. That really wouldn't be a good idea. Would it, Alex?"

A realisation came over Alex that made her feel sick to the pit of her stomach.

"It was you. You were watching me in the playground. You came into my room."

"Certainly so! It's a good thing you didn't turn around. I may have had to have done something about that, you know." His tone was unbelievably taunting, so much it made his presence more menacing.

"What do you want with me?" Alex said. She tried her best not to cry or let her legs buckle, but she was failing and the psychopath still gripping her arm knew this. His smile was pure evil.

"You? Why would you think that I want you? No, no, no. Alex, you know perfectly well who I want and what I want." Moriarty's voice seemed to both make a statement and ask a question simultaneously.

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Precisely! But for now I suppose I could make do with you. Any friend of Sherlock's is a friend of mine."

With that, Alex had heard enough and was frightened beyond imagining. Jerking away from Moriarty, she turned and ran. Through the nearby alleyway leading to her road. She ran faster than she had even at school sports day, sheer terror accelerating her strides.

It was as if she was running in slow motion but covering a lot of ground with each length of her leg. She was coming to the end of the alleyway, ready to head for her front door. She would call Sherlock. And Mycroft. Get him to send a car, take her to Baker Street, or the Diogenes Club.

It was so dark in the alleyway she could hardly see where she was running, only that a lamppost was ahead of her. As she approached, the silver light was blocked by a solid figure that leapt out of nowhere. Before Alex could stop and protest, a strong arm had caught her by the shoulder. The vice tightened around her torso and a soft object was placed over her face. Then, everything went black.

**There we are. More Moriarty next chapter. What do you think he will do to Alex? Feel free to voice your opinions or suggest. I might use them, I might not. Hahaha!**


	27. Remember, Remember The Fifth Of November

**Second part of the story…**

**NOTE: For non-UK readers, the fifth of November is a day that we celebrate to mark an event that (almost) occurred in 1605AD called The Gunpowder Plot. Google it if you want to find out more or PM me. X**

It seemed only seconds later that Alex woke from what she could only describe as a 'non-sleep'. Almost as if she had been absent from this planet for a second yet an eternity and somehow, mysteriously, returned to her physical body.

She was in a sitting position on what felt like a metal chair. Her wrists were bound to the seat as were her ankles. The bonds were far too tight and they cut mercilessly into her skin. Try as she might, Alex found she couldn't struggle against the leather ties. Whimpering in pain, she noticed a cold breeze skim over her skin. It was then she realised she was wearing only her jeans and the sleeveless t-shirt she had put on under her hoody. Shivering, she looked about her, noticing that she was in the middle of a wood. Her mouth gaped wide open as she recognised the place. The bunker that the Collinsons were found in had been left as it was; a pile of bricks and rubble right in front of her.

It would have been too dark to see if it weren't for the small fire that danced in the middle of the wrecked bunker. Alex was a couple of metres away from it and was grateful for the distance but was equally terrified as to how she got here and whether she was alone.

The fire was too bright to look at. Her eyes were rather sensitive and somewhat dry and she felt her contact lenses go hard with the lack of moisture. Squinting and trying to irrigate the contact lenses by squeezing her lids, she noticed the outline of a figure standing to the right of the fire.

In the same leather jacket, grey t-shirt and faded jeans stood Jim Moriarty, smiling mockingly at her.

"Ah, good morning! Or should I say good evening? It is still the fifth of November, just about. One of my favourite days of the year! Why would you think that is?" Moriarty turned to walk around the fire to the other side as he said this. Alex was too scared to even attempt an answer. Her throat was in need of a glass of water, too, so speaking was out of the question. An 'um' was all she could muster.

Alex had never known terror or anxiety like this. The rapid thumping of her heart and the increasing hyperventilation were overwhelming. The effects of the chloroform were also buzzing in her mind.

"Oh, can't speak. How about a nice, refreshing glass of H2O!" Moriarty half sang as he approached her. Alex desperately tried to listen to her instincts of flight or flight, but immobilised by the chair, she found this an impossible task. His words were full of expression and taunted her more than school bullies ever did but he seemed to have an impassive tone in his voice. He was a psychopath after all; incapable of emotions, remorse or empathy. Not that he chose not to feel such things – he simply couldn't. Despite her obvious fear of this man, she couldn't help but wonder what exactly would be going through his brilliant, yet incomplete, brain.

She flashed back to the present and saw that Moriarty had produced a glass from a holdall, and poured clear liquid from a bottle into it. The label was of a well-known mineral water brand, but Alex was cynical.

Moriarty held it to her lips and although gasping, Alex turned her head away, refusing the drink. That could have been acid for all Alex knew.

"Don't want a drink? No? Ok. Your loss." He said with a condescending squeak and he downed the glass in just three gulps. Alex was proud of herself to an extent for trusting her gut feelings, but couldn't help but feel disappointed. The liquid was demonstratively no more than the very substance she needed: water.

"So, what's it like being friends with Sherlock Holmes? Exciting, I should think!" He exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. He was enjoying this. Frightening a woman he had no quarrel with. It was a game to him. He wanted nothing from her, just entertainment.

Once again, Alex couldn't answer. He acknowledged her intransigence and crouched down in front of her, grabbing her head and penetrating her mind with his stare. Alex squealed but couldn't close her eyes. She had to see what he was about to do next.

"It really isn't a good idea to ignore me. Really not a good idea. I suggest you answer me, unless you want to endure the very same fate of Guy Fawkes himself."

Almost fainting from the fear that the threat spread through her, Alex tried to open her mouth to speak. Moriarty released her head and produced another glass from the holdall. He filled it with water and brought it to her lips. This time, Alex drank. It was room temperature and tasted thankfully ordinary.

"So, you are friends with Sherlock Holmes, hmm? Sounds wonderful. I'd _loooove_ to be his friend but he doesn't like me!" Moriarty said with a pitiful whine, oozing fake disappointment. He did what could only be described as a 'puppy dog' look and entwined his fingers. His small frame was still crouched in front of Alex. She shivered from cold and fear she could not think of an answer.

"I..I…I c-can't imagine w…why!" Alex choked out.

"Haha! Good answer, _really_ good answer! You don't suppose why he doesn't like me, do you?"

"B-because you're…" Alex didn't want to say what her mind was telling her. One false word, just one syllable of anything that could cause offence could cost her any of her faculties. Possibly her life.

"Mmm? I'm what, exactly?" His face would have been friendly if the recipient of his gaze didn't know who he was. But Alex knew what this man was capable of. She thought about her answer.

"Not like him…" This only caused the psychopath to leap in the air and laugh maniacally as if he had heard the best joke in the world.

"Oh my God! You _are_ funny! Funny, but stupid so damn stupid! You're ordinary. An angel and Sherlock is right there with you. You have no clue, do you? Sherlock and I are _very much_ alike. More than he even knows. Except he's decided to be on the side of the angels when he'd be so well suited on the other side. It really is fun talking to you, Alex. But, you know, I don't want anything from you. You're not worth my time."

Fearing the worst, Alex shook more than ever, tears streaming down her face. Her breaths short and sharp and the sobs escaping her lips were almost involuntary. Embarrassed beyond the ultimate humiliation Alex really didn't want to look at Moriarty. However, she could not tear her vision away. He could have had, he most likely had, an accomplice. Accomplices, perhaps.

"You know, I would leave it here, considering there is nothing more to do with you, but there is one thing I need you to see. And feel free to let Sherlock know, I'd be delighted!"

His last gaze upon her faded as his figure walked into the darkness of the woods, away from the orange of the fire. The crunch of his feet quietened with each step until Alex was completely alone. Isolated and frightened, still strapped to the chair with no way of getting herself free. She tried to stand, to lift the chair with her but it was so heavy she could hardly manage it.

She then remembered that Moriarty had wanted her to be witness to something. If he was happy for Alex to see something then this should surely mean that she was being allowed to live? Muttering a list of expletives and curses under her breath Alex became more aware of her surroundings. She could just make out the place where she had felt the blast of the bomb in the bunker, the last thing she could remember before waking up in hospital. Just as she was starting to struggle again to try and move, a loud cracking sound resonated through the woods, bouncing off the tree trunks. Crying out in surprise and fear, Alex's head snapped upwards to see a large black mass fall from a great height right above the bonfire.

Screaming and jerking away so to avoid any impact, Alex tipped the chair sideways and landed roughly on her side. Her ribs bruised as contact was made with the earth. Gritting her teeth roughly at the pain, her eyes shot open as she observed the large object that fell upon the bonfire.

It was an effigy. Very long, clad in a dark coat. In the light of the flickering flames, Alex could make out that the shoes were of shiny black leather. The trousers were also black, as was a wig that lay on the head. A black wig of short curls. The face was porcelain white. It was without doubt a likeness of Moriarty's archenemy: Sherlock Holmes.

Alex watched the fire engulf the wretched figure until her vision gave in. Her eyes were very dry now and she could hardly see. Only by squinting. The contact lenses had to come out soon for they were beginning to cause her pain.

She managed to roll herself onto her knees with her forehead resting on the floor. It took more effort than she had ever gathered in her life to hoist her body into a kneeling position. The ends of the chair legs dug into her calves, so Alex had to adjust her position to avoid the pain. It was then that the realisation dawned on her that the bonds around her ankles had been cut. When did that happen? Alex thought. She could swear that Moriarty was alone but the idea of him being the one to execute a kidnapping and interrogation was ridiculous. He must have had thousands of operatives.

Taking advantage of her freed legs, smiling delectably with hope, she pushed herself up so she was standing, albeit hunched over with the chair still attached to her wrists.

Feeling them cut her deeper, she struggled against the tightness. Soon, the blood was flowing but she felt her wrists become more mobile inside the leather straps. In a sudden and excruciatingly painful movement, Alex managed to extract her left wrist from her bonds. The leather pulled at her skin as she did so. It was so hard not to scream. Quicker than she had ever been in her life, Alex frantically loosened the leather straps that held her right wrist. The heavy metal chair fell to the floor and Alex straightened up with a sigh of relief.

But she was still cold and her wrists hurt. At least she hadn't sustained serious injuries or anything worth being in hospital for. Whipping around on the spot, she ignored the still burning effigy and tried her best to look through her dry and painful eyes. Was Moriarty still around? Where was her shoulder bag? If she could get to a phone she could call…

As soon as Alex thought about phoning the police, she realised that this would be the most stupid move of all. She had to get away from Rainham woods, away from the small but threatening bonfire. It was beginning to die down and she hoped that it wouldn't harm the wood or any animals before it was completely extinguished.

She walked around as best she could without her legs buckling searching for her bag. It had been slung over a tree branch too high for her to reach. Moriarty had certainly not wanted her to escape easily. It would always come at a price. A taxing price.

Alex had never climbed a tree and in her weakened state she simply couldn't even try to. She had no way of telling the time, only that it was still dark and was probably before midnight. Just as she was about to resign herself to leaving her belongings to find help, she saw a large branch with a sort of hook at one end next to the tree. Despite the agony in her wrists, she held it upright and made several feeble attempts to lift her bag down.

It must have taken over a quarter of an hour before Alex had achieved the desired result and dumping the large branch, she scrambled inside her shoulder bag to find her BlackBerry.

The black phone was still working and had not been damaged. Her wallet too was left untouched. These two items and her keys were all she thought she had come out with, but Alex breathed deeply and purposefully as she felt the small bottle of saline solution in one of the compartments in her bag. She held her head back as she flushed her eyes with copious amounts of the liquid. It felt wonderful and Alex was able to see her surrounding much clearer. Then, she heard her phone chime. Alex opened the text message urgently, hoping it was her mother, Mrs Hudson or the boys. Except it wasn't any of them. The sender was anonymous but the words were undoubtedly from only one person:

_Remember, remember, the fifth of November! X_

Trembling, Alex gripped her phone as if it were trying to escape. This was her only lifeline. To try and find her way out of the woods at this time of night without any way of seeing in the dark was pointless. She would go round in circles and the fire was almost out. The phone wouldn't emit much light. Still whispering to herself the same curses she had rolled out earlier, Alex went to her contact list to call her relative who lived in Chatham. But, her phone had been stripped of its contacts. They weren't anywhere to be seen on the phone at all. Not on the call log and text messages had been deleted. Alex hadn't bothered to memorise any numbers apart from her mother's. But her mother would call the police so she couldn't call her.

Oh God! What shall I do? Alex asked thin air, panicking now. It was then that she realised that there was a contact on her phone. Just one person. Sherlock Holmes. He was the only one whom she would be able to call.

Without hesitation, Alex called the detective, her jaw shaking and her hand going numb from the cold.

"Alex?" Sherlock answered after a couple of rings.

"Sh-Sherlock, please help me!" Alex cried, dropping to her knees. That was it. The onset of shock. The tears were falling thick and fast. She couldn't hold back sobs anymore. Sherlock was the last person she wanted to cry to, given his lack of understanding of emotions, but right now she really couldn't care less.

"Where are you?" He demanded, his voice sounding desperate.

"I..I..I'm at the bunker in R…R…Rainham woods…"

"How did you get there?" Sherlock asked before answering his own question. "Moriarty. He's got to you too. Are you alright, Alex?"

"Y-yeah except I've got cuts on my wrists I'm bleeding and…" Alex tried to stand but her legs could not support her weight, "… I can't get up. He brought me here, he found me, he…"

"It's alright, we'll send someone to come and get you. Don't move. Call out when you hear so we know where you are."

Sherlock handed his phone to John, who kept her talking as fatigue was beginning to make her drowsy. But Alex was sure that she could have kept awake purely by the fact that her instincts and guard wouldn't let her. John was so kind and reassuring that Alex understood why Sherlock had given such a task to his best friend. The familiar feeling of being an inconvenience to the boys washed over Alex and she apologised profusely to John. She explained that Moriarty had left her with only Sherlock's number and she was too distraught to try to remember any other. He assured her that this was not an inconvenience at all and Alex began to calm down. The fire had completely burnt out but the smoke still billowed around. It wasn't long before she heard footsteps crushing the cracked autumn leaves, twigs snapping and saw beams of silver light flashing all over the place. Sherlock and John's voices were calling her name along with two other people she couldn't recognise, a man and a woman..

"I'm over here!" She yelled, holding the phone away from her mouth. The tall form of Sherlock Holmes came running to her, springing effortlessly over a fell tree. His strong hands had grasped her by her shoulders as he approached her.

"You're ok now. It's alright, let me have a look at you." He checked her face and wrists, gently as not to cause her pain but not quite gently enough. Alex winced and tried to pry her hands away, but the detective had to see for himself what damage had been done.

"I'm ok, it's just my left wrist mostly." Alex tried to assure the detective. John had draped his arm around her and observed his friend deducing Alex's fate. He crouched to check her ankles for only four seconds before rising again. The man and woman with them were ambulance staff. They tried to move Sherlock away so they could see for themselves what they needed to do.

"Chloroform, about five mills on a large soft tissue with balsam, they transported you in a car with leather seats and bound your wrists and ankles to that chair. You must have been out for no more than three hours. In shock, obviously."

At last he allowed the ambulance staff to check her eyes and pulse before Sherlock removed his large Belstaff coat and putting it over Alex's shoulders. She tried to protest, it was far too big, but he insisted and drew her arms through the sleeves.

"Can you walk?" John asked her, once again wrapping an arm around her waist.

"I think so…" Alex managed to crack through broken sobs.

They walked slowly and carefully to the woods edge where the ambulance was waiting. Sherlock stood around but paced slightly as the ambulance staff gave Alex two extremely saccharine cups of tea and cleaned her wounds. They weren't too deep and would heal quickly. But Alex was still in shock and after several tears, her face was now blank and expressionless. Her eyes were dry again and she had to use the rest of her saline solution to water them. Sherlock and John had been taken there by one of Mycroft's chauffeurs, who was waiting patiently by the ambulance. Sherlock seemed relieved to finally be back in the car after Alex's wrists had been had been bandaged.

"What happened to your hoody?" Sherlock asked.

"Erm, I don't know." Alex said honestly. She hadn't found it near the scene and there was no trace of it. Alex didn't know whether to be puzzled or surprised by a mad criminal psychopath taking her hoody. It was a black Puma one and was her favourite and the same one that was amongst the clothes that he had taken into her room. Maybe this was a sign that things that people love could be taken and gone forever, even other people? Alex really didn't want to think about this. They stopped on the way to visit Alex's mother's. John had gone in and spoke with the woman before collecting Alex's belongings. It would not have been a good idea to see her daughter in the state she was in.

_Two hours later_

221b was surprisingly warm and would have been inviting to any other guest. But Alex couldn't relax. She had been awake for a long time and was exhausted. The chloroform had put her into artificial sleep and the time that she was out of it had not done her any good at all. Alex had hardly said a word after recounting the events of the night. Not to John, not to Sherlock. Not even to herself. She was too shaken up.

By six o clock in the morning, Alex found herself calming down but could still not bring her body to comply with her mental urge to sleep. John had insisted that Alex slept in his bed on the upper floor of 221b, and he slept on the sofa. However, Alex refused to go anywhere or do anything other than stand by Sherlock's bureau and gaze out of the window unconsciously. She was vaguely aware of clatter coming from the kitchen; Sherlock Holmes conducting an experiment, no doubt.

Swaying slightly, she sank into an absence, or trance. It was as if her brain was trying to make sense of what happened. She knew she had met Moriarty, that he had frightened her, injured her, burnt an effigy of Sherlock Holmes in front of her and left her in the middle of nowhere, freezing cold.

"W-why?" Alex stuttered under her breath.

"Mmm?"Came the reply from the kitchen. Alex didn't turn to look at him.

"Why did he do that? W-what was the point?"

Sherlock didn't reply for a minute.

"Because he can. He used you to get to me, just like he did with John six months ago." Sherlock answered.

It was another half an hour before there was any movement from the living room. The only noise came from John's low and rumbling snores.

Jumping slightly from the feeling of a hand coming into contact with her arm, Sherlock shushed her and handed Alex a cup of hot chocolate.

"What?" Alex asked, puzzled because of this out of character gesture.

"It's hot chocolate. Mrs Hudson made it."

Alex croaked out another one syllabled questioning word before looking at the clock. It was seven in the morning. Mrs H was always up at half past six and she was always willing to make anyone a hot drink.

It was wonderfully delicious. Like melted and heated chocolate ice cream. It was sickly sweet and soothing. Sherlock stood by her as she drank. He hadn't slept a wink all night and Alex could see the remnants of an experiment with fingernails on the kitchen table.

Although usually uncomfortable when Sherlock watched her eat or drink, she really didn't care at this point. After finishing, once again completely uncharacteristically, Sherlock took the mug from her and took it into the kitchen. He just left it on the side without rinsing it and went back to his place at the kitchen table.

The warmth and comfort of the hot chocolate was working surprisingly fast and Alex actually began to feel drowsy.

"Use my room if you can't make it upstairs." Sherlock said impassively without looking up from his microscope.

Deciding that it was the best option, while still in her jeans and t-shirt, Alex climbed into Sherlock's bed. It had only recently been changed by Mrs Hudson and, applying the detective's methods, Alex deduced that it hadn't actually been slept in. As soon as her head touched the pillow, she drifted off. Just as the image of Moriarty threatened her peaceful sleep, she sank lower and lower until she was swimming in a black mass, floppy and sedate. This was the deepest sleep Alex had ever had and she was happy to stay in this place for a while.

**Thanks for reading! Things will get better for Alex, I swear! I hate begging for reviews but any feedback will be greatly appreciated! **


	28. A New Arrival

**This chapter is a bit funny and fluffy! A good contrast to the previous chapters. **

The first thing Alex noticed when she came to was that the pillow her head created a dent in was slightly damp against her cheek. She'd been sleeping with her mouth open she was so out of it. Heavy and still drowsy, she blinked her eyes open to find herself lying on her front with all four limbs at funny angles. It was as if she had been moulded in this position and couldn't contort her body to its normal shape. Groaning as she tried to move her head, she saw what had woken her.

John was sat on the bed beside her, pointing to the coffee table and patting her back. Alex no longer had the benefit of her contact lenses and had to squeeze her eyes almost shut to see what it was. The doctor had placed a glass of water on the side for her with a jug to refill.

"Ugh, sthanksss…" She slurred. Why wouldn't her tongue let her annunciate? It was far too relaxed.

"No, sit up and drink it, please. You're dehydrated."

Alex groaned again, this time meaning it, like a stroppy teenager being told to get up for school. John mimicked her impatiently and once again told her to get up and drink.

Alex managed to pull herself up with great difficulty but couldn't rotate fully and fell back as soon as she had half turned over, her head just missing the head board by a centimetre.

"Careful!" John said as he helped her into a seated position.

"I'ff never bin stho tsired…" Alex mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

"It's because of the medication." John answered.

"Wha?" Alex asked.

"Sherlock. He said that he put Valium in the hot chocolate Mrs Hudson made for you. Didn't he tell you?"

A wave of horror and annoyance woke Alex up further. How dare he spike my drink!

"Tha basthard! He dint tsell me!"

John seemed a bit put out as well by his flatmate's sneaky methods. He handed Alex the glass and waited until she got a firm grip before taking his hand away. She downed it in seconds.

"I'm beginning to think that Sherlock and I are having a bad effect on your life and safety. Since you've come to Baker Street you've been hurt a couple of times and had encountered several dangerous situations."

"Wha yhou shaying? I need tso leaf?" Alex was deadly serious in her statement, dreading John's answer.

"Well, maybe. You really don't need all this."

Alex's heart pumped hard. She felt like shouting at the doctor but couldn't given the way his wonderful heart shone so brightly with his concern. She realised then that she genuinely loved John and couldn't bear to lose him. Or Sherlock and Mrs Hudson.

"Nuh! Nunnununuh! Um not leafing, I luff being 'ere! I luff yhou, I luff tha man allough he's an arsh. I luff mizziz Hudshon an I'ff honeshly hads a gweat tsime. I dun mind tha adfensures an dare hathards. I woss sooo scared but um shafe. Um a whiter, J'hn, I need… eggzitemunt!" Alex said through her dry and sedated mouth, waving her arms in the air. A drop of water splashed John's face and he took it from her before Alex would probably do something silly with it, like lob it across the room.

John couldn't help but laugh. Even though he kept his hand to his mouth to keep as quiet as possible his jiggling shoulders gave away his amusement.

"Um glad yhou sink tha's funny…" Alex said sadly, looking down at the space between her knees.

"No, you're just so soppy and silly when you're sleepy!"

"An dwugged. I car tsawk pwopewly!" She cried out, frustrated at her apparent impediment. John rubbed her shoulder affectionately and Alex almost instinctively fell forward so her head collided with John's own shoulder. Thankfully it was the right one.

"I luff yhou…" Alex muttered sleepily, tears coming again. The doctor hugged her gently.

"I know, love you too."

She must have fallen asleep on John's shoulder for she would not remember settling back on the bed and feeling John drape the duvet over her.

Alex woke fully at half past eight in the evening on the sixth of November. She could hear some fireworks being set off in the distance. Why can't people just stop letting those bloody things off after the actual celebration date? Alex thought.

Sherlock's room was so dark and peaceful, she didn't want to get up. It was half past nine before she was able to get herself out of bed and walk into the kitchen of 221b, albeit in a dazed state. The thirteen hours of sleep had really thrown her body clock off. Why had Sherlock given her Valium at seven in the morning? Oh, yes, the man had no sense of routine and that included the fact that sleep should take place at night! The Valium would have come in useful right after Sherlock and John had found her in Rainham woods, not six hours later.

The detective was still in the kitchen, this time playing with indiscernible body parts and Harpic. Alex couldn't help but feel slightly angry with the man, even though a part of her was grateful.

"Sirlock, neggs tsime yhou wanna dwug me, juss arsg me firss an _I'll_," Alex said, pointing to her heart, "tsell yhou yay or nay. Nor yhou. Ar kay?"

Sherlock had just paused from dipping what looked like a tongue in a dish full of Harpic to listen to Alex's request. She silently cursed herself for slurring. She had never felt so ridiculous in front of the genius in her presence as she did now but in her spaced out state she didn't feel half as embarrassed as she should have done.

"Duly noted." He said unconvincingly with a smirk and returned to his task.

The sight of the dead tongue grossed Alex out. She groaned and stomped off to the top of the stairs before grabbing the banister to descend carefully. It took an age to do but she had to get down to 221c to shower and change. Moriarty played on her mind for a while before she was able to find something to occupy her mind. She decided to write an entry on her own blog about the events of the night before, not caring if Moriarty would read it. John had blogged about his meeting with the consulting criminal so why couldn't she?

After finishing, Alex tore herself away from her laptop for her tears were dropping onto the keys. After showering and changing, she called Molly and asked what she would be up to on her impending three days holiday. Alex hadn't quite thought about the fact that it was after eleven at night when she called, but Molly was still up and happy to talk regardless. They were best friends now, after all.

"Nothing much. Want to watch DVDs with me?"

"Err, no thanks." Alex's slurring lisp had faded and she now had control over her mouth and throat, thank God.

"What do you suggest?" Molly asked. Alex had been thinking about doing what she was about to say for some time, but had never got round to it. Now was a better time than ever.

"You got Toby from Battersea Dogs and Cats Home, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I think given what has just happened I'd love to volunteer for a few days. I could do with some animal company. That is if you're up for it?"

Molly didn't answer for a few seconds.

"Um, yeah. Yeah, actually that sounds really good. Cats or dogs?"

"I don't mind. A bit of both."

Two days later, the girls arrived at Battersea eager to start work. Alex had read and seen on telly that animal interaction was great for people who have had traumatic experiences and stress. After completing their paperwork, Alex was shown to an empty kennel area that needed to be cleaned thoroughly before it was filled with any new arrivals.

A bit disconcerted that she wouldn't be playing with any dogs, at least not at this time, she set to work immediately and cleaned the six kennels in under an hour. Molly had gone to the cattery all excited and gooey.

After the kennels were clean, they were filled with newly washed and dried dog baskets, toys, teddy bears, food and water bowls.

There were more places to clean and after meeting Molly for lunch, it was Alex's turn to visit the cattery.

Cleaning and decking out kennels and cages was pretty much all Molly and Alex did for the first day. Molly would have to go back to work after three days but Alex wanted to keep coming. Although she initially despised mopping and wiping (not to mention the smell of disinfectant, special pet friendly stuff as it was) it became quite therapeutic. She saw the odd dog and cat, but was too busy to play or give strokes.

On the second day, Alex was finally allowed to be with the dogs but found herself falling in love with each and every one. They required rigorous exercise and it was the best reward of all to see a previously mistreated Staffy take to an agility course like a star. The year old female then had a good old wrestle with Alex before some clicker training.

It was much the same with the cats in the afternoon. A queen had given birth to six kittens eight weeks before and they were now ready for re-homing.

"I would so love to take one home!" Alex cooed as she picked up a male kitten, who was squeaking adorably, and cuddled him.

"What type of home do you live in?" The supervisor, Paul, asked her.

"A basement flat."

"How big?"

"Err, quite big floor space, big kitchen, but a small bathroom, biggish lounge and a similar bedroom."

"Well, you can have a cat. Would it have access to the outdoors?"

"Yes, I have access to the back courtyard, but the cat wouldn't be able to get far – just to neighbours' gardens and such." Alex said optimistically, stroking the little creature in her arms.

"Do you work?" Paul asked.

"I'm a published author, I have some appointments but I work when I please and mostly at home."

"Perfect. I don't have any objections to cats being solely indoors or partly outdoors, there's pros and cons for each, really. You just need plenty of toys, scratching posts and high places."

Something inside Alex became excited and she soon realised that she was squeezing the kitten too hard. She whispered an apology before letting him go.

"Unfortunately, you can't have one of these, they've already been appointed homes, but I'm sure we can find a cat for you. I wouldn't say it's best for you to have a dog, unless you're going to get a lapdog or terrier."

"No, it's fine. I really want to get a big house one day and have allsorts of animals! A cat will do for now, but I have to ask my landlady."

The half hour long conversation with Mrs Hudson could have really been condensed into five minutes, really, with the sweet lady yapping on about the cats she had before. Eventually she got around to the answer Alex wanted.

"Yes, darling, you can have a cat considering you decorated the flat. That means if the little rascal scratches or pulls anything down, you are paying for it."

"No problem, Mrs H! Thank you so much. Love you, see you later."

Alex caught up with Molly before they went home to tell her that she would too have a companion like Molly had with Toby. The girly pathologist was over the moon and they both went back the next day to find the perfect cat.

Alex didn't want to be too choosy. She knew that if she fell for a particular cat she would have to get it.

She truly loved all the animals and it wasn't long before more tears came, especially when an elderly cat with feline AIDS had to be put to sleep. It was heartbreaking but it made Alex more determined to rescue a cat that needed a good home.

Just as the girls made their way to the canteen for lunch, Alex heard a crying voice in the reception area. A young woman had found an abandoned kitten down an alleyway. It had been placed amongst cardboard boxes to be taken to recycling! Alex really couldn't imagine why people could be so cruel. She remembered hearing about children being abandoned by their parents and mistreated and it broke her heart. She hated any form of cruelty.

The tiny creature was taken out of the little box it had been placed in, trembling with fear. Alex went over and saw that the female kitten was of an indescribable colour. She was tabby, tortie and calico all mottled together without any kind of pattern. Lighter on one side than the other, separated by a stripe down her belly, Alex noticed a black diamond on the underside of her neck. The kitten had been cleaned and fed by the young woman, but she couldn't keep her. Alex could see that it tore the woman apart to have to say goodbye to the young creature after helping her.

"Her! I want her!" Alex blurted out before she could think. The reception staff and the veterinary nurse turned to her with blank expressions.

"Sorry, the supervisor Paul and I have been talking about getting me a cat. I really want to rescue that little one, please!" The veterinary nurse took the kitten and approached Alex with it cradled in her arms.

"She needs to be checked by the vet first and you do know that we will have to send an inspector round before we release her into your care?"

"Yeah, Paul did say that. I've told him a bit about my home and he says it shouldn't be a problem."

"Well," the nurse said, looking at the kitten's beautiful, tiny face, "it looks like you have a new mummy, sweetheart."

Paul and an assistant inspector visited Alex's flat the next day. He determined the place fit for a kitten and Alex was quite happy to purchase as much stuff as she would need for the new arrival. She had decided on the name Mitzie and she was informed by the vet that Mitzie was probably about seven weeks old, a little early to be taken from her mother. But with care and nurture, she would be fine. Her breed was indeterminable. She seemed part British shorthair, but could have been part Bengal or Burmese.

Alex had to apologise to the unfortunate cabby after piling the vehicle with a scratching post and a scratching tree (with a high point that Paul recommended, although Mitzie may not be able to reach it for a while), food, toys, blankets, pet bowls, litter and a litter tray, as well as an igloo bed so that the kitten would have a hidey hole. After acquiring the stuff from Battersea, Alex made a generous donation of £1,000 by way of thanks.

The next day, Mitzie arrived. John and Mrs Hudson came to the door with Alex to greet the new edition. After viewing Mitzie through the slots in the carrier, Paul ventured into Alex's flat to open it so that the kitten could make her own way into her new home. Alex wondered how a soldier like John, so tough and manly, could melt so much at the sight of the squeaking kitten. Alex had never seen him so soft, even when he helped Alex recover from her ordeal with Moriarty.

Sherlock, of course, cared less about animals than he did about people, which was hard to even imagine given that he cared little about anything except his work.

Mitzie took no time at all to settle in. She claimed her scratching post instantly and began a boxing match with the jingling ball that hung from the stick that protruded from the top of the post. The way she pranced about on her hind legs and took a playful swipe at Alex when she dared to touch the scratching post was so cute! She loved the food that Alex had selected from Pets at Home and the vet had already given Mitzie her jabs and flea treatment.

Molly came over after a few days and Mitzie seemed to really like her. She was a brave kitten and was so affectionate, not afraid to inspect any new faces. Both Molly and John commented on how much better Alex seemed after the several days of voluntary work and adopting her new baby. She was sure that she was recovering well from the meeting with the world's most dangerous criminal and could even talk about it now without feeling the after effects of the shock.

After a week, Alex felt confident enough to leave Mitzie on her own for a few hours at a time. Mrs Hudson often checked on her. Alex had researched cat behaviour out of curiosity and she was quite astonished to find that cats usually sleep for three quarters of the day! Being no more than a baby, Mitzie slept a lot, but jumped all over Alex first thing in the morning or swatted her nose to wake her. She had a very loud purr, too, and once sniffed Alex's ear whilst purring one morning, a sensation that made her giggle along with the tickle of the fur and whiskers.

"Having fun with _that_ creature, Alex?" Sherlock asked cheekily one morning as he headed out with John to investigate a stabbing in Finchley.

"_She_ is a kitten, Sherlock, and I would thank you to not talk about her like that!"

"Why? Would it take offence?"

"Sherlock, stop it, let's just go, please." John said as he attempted to usher the detective out.

"_She_ may not but I would. She's actually really sweet, Sherlock, you might like her if you meet her."

Sherlock adjusted his scarf before answering that question.

"I'd rather not, thank you." Alex wasn't sure if he was sincere or not. But she didn't care if the detective never met her little one. Provided Mitzie would never become the victim of an experiment she was happy for the two of them to never make one another's acquaintance.

**If anyone is wondering, Mitzie is a real cat – she's my cat and over two years old now. The image for this story is a pic of her as a kitten. I've wanted to give Alex a pet for a while and I'm such an animal lover I couldn't resist putting animals into this fic – as well as Sherlock's attitude to them! Hope you are all well, much love and kitten cuddles X**


	29. A Disappearing Act

**This case is inspired by Sir ACD's A Case Of Identity, which I do not own. I've taken the core of the story and altered it to the present day, but made a few changes to names and stuff. Hope you like, review if you want to. **

It had been six months since Alex moved to Baker Street and her life had changed irrevocably. She had experienced more twists and turns in this short space of time than she could comprehend.

After the ordeal with Moriarty, Alex spent as much time as she could with Mitzie and Mrs Hudson. Her landlady adored Mitzie and even purchased items for her own flat so she could take care of the kitten when Alex wasn't there. But Alex didn't go out much. Before adopting Mitzie, she spent her time out or with the casual friends she had made in the London gay community or the boys upstairs. Mitzie was a companion she could have done with a long time ago and Alex was so happy that their paths crossed.

Alex had spent a couple of mornings doing some early Christmas shopping and had set up a standing order to pay Mrs Hudson her rent. She had no idea what to get as a present for Sherlock Holmes. So she settled for giving something he could add to his already superfluous dressing gown collection. A designer black silk one.

John wasn't difficult to buy for. Alex found that he quite liked beer and obviously shopped at Burtons. Mrs Hudson loved dresses and jewellery so vouchers for her favourite shops would be best.

Sherlock and John hadn't even started their Christmas shopping. The stabbing case that they went to investigate had taken three days to complete, including a stake out at Canary Wharf. It wasn't as simple a case as they initially believed and the boys quickly found themselves investigating a fraud ring. It had taken a lot out of John and he had slept for about fourteen hours when it was over. Sherlock didn't eat at all during the case, or sleep. He too hit the sack the night he and John returned.

Mrs Hudson had made them both dinner but despite her wonderful cooking, haddock and sweet potato fries didn't go down too well. She had taken herself off to see Mrs Turner, the lady next door, the following day and Alex took a few hours out to look after the boys. Alex had helped her housemates out before, but today, she really started to understand exactly how Mrs Hudson felt every day.

"Thanks for the egg and toast, Alex." John said impassively as she cleared the table, not looking at her. It was more obligatory gratitude than genuine thanks. The table Sherlock and John had their breakfast on was pilled with books, samples, papers, a Sudoku cube and a fax machine. It was a wonder that the plates had been able to fit on it for them to gorge on their breakfasts. Neither of the boys lifted a finger to help her clear and John handed his cup over with a look that begged for more tea and took it for granted that it would be done. Alex was slowly beginning to become annoyed, however, she solemnly resigned herself to the role of 'dog's body' and observed the plates in either hand that were empty, including Sherlock's. The two lazy men in the room looked as if they had been given a complimentary breakfast at a high class hotel! Multiple newspapers were scattered over the floor and the table.

"I suppose I'd better wash up…" Alex didn't like being submissive but rather felt like she had no choice.

"Oh, would you, please?" Sherlock said, ever so softly, grinning like his face was just begging to be slapped.

"Ugh, piss off…" She hissed as she walked away towards the kitchen. She caught a small glimpse of the man's expression change from cheeky to bemused. Or was it surprised? Alex couldn't be sure but actually didn't care. She just set about doing the washing up whilst gritting her teeth at the irritating sounds of papers being rustled about. The boys exchanged a few words, John talking more than Sherlock and the latter being rather rough with the papers.

"Oh, why can't some idiot just murder some other idiot?! That'll make my day!" Sherlock cried out, slamming the paper down on the desk in frustration.

"Where are the criminals of Britain? They certainly can't be taking Christmas off!"

"It's not actually Christmas yet, Sherlock, there's six weeks to go." John said.

"Is it?" The detective answered.

"Yes." John and Alex said in unison. They stared at one another in disbelief, but they mutually realised that Sherlock Holmes' knowledge of matters he would consider not pertinent to his work would be rather limited.

The bored detective scoffed and took up the same paper again, flicking through it anxiously, muttering something incoherent.

The kitchen was pretty much spick and span by the time Alex had finished with it, but she didn't dare touch the great detective's precious experiments. Particularly the ones with the severed body parts or unspeakable bodily fluids!

She was just about to announce her intention to return to her own flat when the doorbell buzzed. A single ring, maximum pressure just under the half second. Sherlock Holmes had uttered these words on more than one occasion to describe the tell-tale presence of a person, or persons, whom Sherlock favoured above all visitors. A client!

This sound, and this sound alone, caused the occupants of the living room to spring up from the table and scurry around like they had just forgotten that one of their mothers was coming to visit. Sherlock could hardly contain his anticipation.

"A client, a client! Oh, this could be the day all my dreams come true, oh, a case to _die_ for! Anything above a seven, please!"

John went downstairs to let said client in and Alex proceeded to make her way down to her flat. But before she could, Sherlock stopped her.

"No, you stay."

"Why?"

"The client is a woman. You being in the room would balance out the ratio."

Alex screwed her face up. She was truly puzzled by this but almost instantly realised that Sherlock actually didn't mean a single word of what he said. He just wanted Alex there to add to the number of people in the audience. In addition, he may just have wished Alex to remain for the same reason as Sherlock wished John to be his right hand man with all cases. The lyrics of It's A Man's Man's Man's World went round in circles in Alex's head but her instinctual modesty told her to not be so arrogant.

The woman who entered the flat couldn't have been more than nineteen. Lightly made up, streaked hair and a perfect French manicure. She shook Alex's hand as John ushered her in and although she shook Sherlock's too, it was an unusually long shake. The detective's expert eye and senses analysed her completely, his intelligence and observation skills blatantly obvious to John and Alex, but the doctor and the writer were nervous as to how Sherlock would address this young lady. She was clearly apprehensive and although Alex couldn't be certain, seemed rather melancholy and possibly heartbroken. Her shoulders and eyes told the story of a person who had, like Alex, endured several trials and tribulations within a short space of time. A fate Alex couldn't help but empathise with. Her name was Maria Sutherland and had heard of Sherlock from Sarah Caister, a close family friend. At first Sherlock assured Maria that she could speak in front of John and Alex as freely as him. It wasn't long before the first deduction came to the surface.

"You're short sighted, I believe. Possibly an astigmatism, too?"

"Yes, but…" Maria stuttered but was stopped in her tracks.

"Do you not find it difficult to type so much on a mobile phone with such small buttons? Why not get a better prescription of contact lenses?"

The girl was astonished. John and Alex could both see that but they both also knew that the lack of surprise in her face showed that Sarah had clearly made it clear to her about the brilliance of Sherlock Holmes.

"Well, I found it hard to begin with but I find I can type without actually looking at the keys now. How did you know?"

"Never mind. Please take a seat."

Sherlock coupled his offer with a hand gesture for her to sit in John's chair, without acquiring the doctor's consent. The consulting detective took up his seat opposite the girl tapping his fingertips together in front of his face. John and Alex drew up the chairs by the table beside him.

"I need your help, Mr Holmes, my boyfriend has gone missing."

"A missing boyfriend?" Sherlock returned emotionlessly.

"Yes. I last heard from him Friday last week and it's as if he has disappeared from the face of the Earth. Almost like he doesn't exist."

"Oh God, this girl's lost her boyfriend, let's send out a search party." Sherlock muttered turning his face to the left and gazing into the air, incredulous about the nature of this case.

"Excuse me!" Maria Sutherland gasped.

"Sherlock!" John warned him.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"Not good." John reprimanded.

Sherlock was glaring at his colleague with a disconcerted look on his face. John looked at Alex and then at Maria.

"Please continue, Maria. Sherlock, you've been rather bored so let's just hear her out and then decide, Ok?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, pressed his lips and waved his hand in the air in reluctant acquiescence. Alex thought she could hear the word "fine" being uttered.

Maria looked rather offended and in her fragile state she looked as if one more drop of acid from the detective would cause her to breakdown. She gave Sherlock a subtle flick of her eyes to request his ultimate permission to continue her story. He nodded, although still appeared bored, and once again drummed his fingertips together.

"Mr Holmes, I really need your help but I don't know if I can meet your fee, although I don't know what it is..."

"Don't worry about that for now. All I am concerned about is your story. But I would like to know how you came to see me in such a hurry from Sussex this morning."

Maria looked perplexed again. From her attire it wasn't hard for the three of them to deduce that usually Maria would be turned out in the most glamorous and feminine of clothes, jewellery and even fake tan (the blotches on her knuckles were unmistakable), but today she had only taken the time to make herself half presentable.

"Yeah, I did get the first train that I could. I was angry with my father, Jack Windibank, because he wouldn't help me find him. Nothing. He even said that if this man was serious about me, he'd turn up eventually. I lost it at that point and went to see Sarah, which was yesterday, so I got as much things together as possible so in the morning I could get her very quickly."

"Windibank? Your stepfather I take it." Sherlock commented. He seemed to find his boredom lifting slightly.

"Yeah," Maria replied, "I call him Dad, but he's only a decade older than me!"

She tried to feign a laugh but her returning her state of mind to the situation she was in put an end to the short lived giggle.

"What about your mother?" John asked. Sherlock looked a little annoyed at this interjection but kept silent. Maybe he was going to ask the same question anyway but John had, for once, beaten him to it.

"Well, she's alive if that's what you mean, Doctor Watson. I was miffed that she married this man so soon after losing my father. She took over his plumbing business after he died but my stepfather made her sell it. Didn't get half as much as it was worth. My stepfather just thought plumbing was beneath him."

Sherlock Holmes was leaning forward now. His previously furrowed eyebrows had smoothed out and his eyes were wide with interest.

"What do you do, Maria? For a living I mean." Alex asked. Sherlock mirrored the same expression as he had done with John earlier.

"I'm at college doing a beauty course. But I get about three thousand a month from the trust my Uncle Noel in Auckland, left me. The three grand comes from the interest, which is the only amount of the trust I can have."

"Seems quite a good sum for a young woman. Most would be very grateful and somewhat lucky given the current financial climate for just half of that, maybe even a third." Sherlock observed.

Maria smiled at this, nodding affirmatively.

"That's very true. I really don't need that much money, so my stepfather turns it over to my mother. It's only while I'm living at home. I do beauty treatments for private clients while I learn so I earn a pretty good income that way. I have a lot of connections and the people I treat are willing to pay high amounts of money."

It was certainly time to move on with the matter at hand and Sherlock asked her to elaborate on the matter of the missing boyfriend, Mr Howard Angel.

"My father's old plumbing business was of course sold, but the workers still invited my mum to go to their annual work do. Jack, my stepfather, went to France for some wine tasting events and I went to the do with my mum. I met Howard Angel there."

"Did your stepfather disapprove of you going?" Sherlock asked.

"Not really. He always said that I was 'free spirit.' A girl who would do what she wanted regardless. Anywho, after meeting at the work do, we exchanged numbers, became friends on Facebook and we very quickly established a relationship. But my stepfather said that he couldn't come round at all. Not even for a visit. I continued to speak to Howard on Facebook, texts, email, calls and such but meeting up was difficult. Dad made a few trips to France for a week at a time, a weekend and stuff and it was only in this time that we saw one another face to face."

Sherlock seemed lost in contemplation for a while. Maria looked as if she had even forgotten what she was talking about. John felt it was time to fill the lingering void.

"What did – does – Howard do for a living?"

"He's a banker."

"Which bank?" Alex asked. Maria shrugged her shoulders.

"I actually don't know. He was rather evasive about that although he did say that he lived in a flat above the bank."

"Do you know the street?" Sherlock asked.

"Sorry, no."

"Does he have any information on his Facebook profile about where he worked, or did he have workmate friends? Did they ever talk about work on Facebook?" Alex queried.

"Not that I remember. At his insistence we emailed more than used Facebook. He said that his workmates would take the mick if we used the site or made it official that we were an item. But for the small amount of time that we did communicate on Facebook, none of said workmates said anything."

"Can you not show us his profile?" John said as he held his laptop.

"Well, that's just the thing, Doctor Watson. He seems to have completely disappeared. He's gone from Facebook and even his email address no longer works. I get a failure on send notification and his mobile number doesn't even ring. I get that annoying voice saying that the number is not recognised."

"Hmmm…" Sherlock hummed. The cogs were certainly turning and the theories were brewing. His gaze scanned over the whole room but he wasn't actually looking at anything.

After a few moments, Sherlock suddenly sat forward in his chair, taking in a deep breath. The jerky movement caused Maria to jump a little.

"Miss Sutherland. Can you describe to me how Mr Angel looked? His hair, face, clothes, mannerisms, personality - everything. Don't leave anything out, please."

"Err… he's very shy and gentleman-like, preferred to meet up at night and had a light voice for a guy. He was very smartly dressed. Wore suits very much like yours, Mr Holmes, used Calvin Kline, had a stubble, dark brown hair, always slicked with gel and he wore prescription sunglasses but very faint ones. He had very small eyes…"

Maria was very clearing pining for this man. She had fallen in love with him and was desperate to see him again.

"Just going back a little. When your stepfather went to France, did Howard come to your home?" Sherlock enquired.

"Yes."

"He met your mother, too?"

"Yes."

"What did she think of him?"

"She really liked him. Approved of him, actually, and supported our relationship. She said to tell Dad about it by email while he was in France and to say that if mum was happy to accept him, he should too. We decided that email was best. We wouldn't then risk the possible flare up of his temper and he may have had time to simmer down before he came back."

John was very intrigued and thought he would do a bit of investigating himself.

"You talk about sending this email as if it's hypothetical. Did you ultimately send it?"

"Yes, I did, but something odd happened. I got a failure on send message but I didn't check my email for a couple of days I was so busy and when I did notice it, Dad was already on his way back. He doesn't have an email enabled phone."

Sherlock had arisen and was pacing about a bit, making his client rather uncomfortable. She was desperate for answers but there was so much more to do.

"When did you first notice that Howard's profile had gone and your emails to him were not being received?"

"I told you. Last Friday."

"No, you said that you last heard from him last Friday. I mean when did you _first notice_ his apparent absence?"

Maria appeared to think hard.

"I kind of realised that very night that something wasn't right. We were texting and he was telling me about his day at work. I have our last texts here."

She held up the phone and Sherlock took it gently, silently gaining her permission. He showed it to Alex and John.

_My boss threatened me with a disciplinary again so I thought I'd give him a reason to. You wanna know what I did? X_

_You naughty boy! What did you do? xXx_

"That was it. Not another text. I sent him a few more that night and called him, but that was when I got the first 'the number you have dialled…' message. I tried texting and calling the next day but nothing. I sent an email and got a failure on send straight away. I waited it out for a few days but I got rather worried. Mum was rather upset and didn't want me to ever talk about it, but Dad didn't care at all. I met up with Sarah yesterday and told her about it. It was then that she recommended you to me."

That was it. The conclusion of Maria's story. However, Alex and John knew that there were bits and pieces that needed to be filled in.

"What did you and Howard talk about when you last had a verbal conversation, Miss Sutherland." Sherlock asked.

"We spoke on the phone earlier on Friday about when my father would return and what we would do. He said that no matter what happened, we would be together and that he would always love me. He said to never lose faith in that." Maria's voice broke on the final word and tears fell down her face.

"Do you think something bad has happened to him?" Alex asked.

"Yes. And you want to know what else? I think he knew it. Why else would he say things like that? I can't sleep, I find it hard to think about anything else!"

What happened next shocked John and Alex more than the events that they had heard from the interesting and intriguing story of Mr Howard Angel. Sherlock Holmes handed Maria a box of tissues and taking his seat again, he leaned forward in his chair. He spoke gently and sympathetically to her.

"Listen to what I am about to say, Maria. Let me look into this but you must let this man go. Forget about him and don't let him affect you."

The young girl shook her head and smiled, wiping more tears from her eyes.

"Forget him? I'm sorry but I won't be able to, Mr Holmes. I love him and will wait for him no matter how long it takes."

**Hope this is acceptable as an adaptation. This is one of my favourite Canon stories, I recommend reading it.**


	30. The Reveal

**Second part of my version of A Case of Identity.**

Alex showed Maria out, offering her sympathies over the woman's plight. She immediately went to her flat to check on Mitzie, intending to spend the rest of the afternoon at home, possibly writing or cleaning the place up. Sherlock and John would surely be able to solve the case themselves - Alex was only there to spectate. The feeling of being of little purpose was always there.

Little had she been playing chase with Mitzie for a few minutes when Alex received a text from Sherlock instructing her (not asking) to come back upstairs. For once, Alex wasn't prepared to 'do as she was told' by the consulting detective. He wasn't her boss.

_Why?_

_I need your help._

_You and John will do fine without me._

_Could be interesting. Might fuel that fire of an imagination of yours._

She had heard from John Watson before that Sherlock had used the same tactic of 'rag to a bull' to keep John motivated during cases – something about it being dangerous, was it? Alex hated to leave Mitzie again but when she heard Mrs Hudson come back home seconds after Sherlock's text, she accosted her landlady, who was happy to take the kitten into her flat for the rest of the day.

Sherlock seemed rather pleased to see Alex return. He and John had clearly been chatting about the case and the detective probably had had a solution in mind.

"A rather interesting young woman, wouldn't you say? What did you think, Alex?" Sherlock asked. John almost looked almost as smug as his friend.

Alex pondered before replying. There seemed to be some particular… discrepancies with Maria's story.

"Erm. Well, she's clearly in love with the guy."

"Good. What else? What did you notice about her?"

"She's got long streaked hair, had a black leather jacket, a Pandora charm bracelet attached to each shoulder – by herself with superglue. Hooped earrings, false nails done with a French manicure, often applies fake tan everyday but not today and wore little make up even though she usually wears more make-up. Wears J'Adore."

"Excellent. May I say that you and John are progressing nicely? Very nicely although you both still miss things that are of most importance. Details, always look for details. Her mobile phone was poking out of her handbag, a BlackBerry Curve 9360, very small buttons and her fingertips show that she used this mobile phone a lot. She was able to see us and things close to her but had to squint when we were further away. She undoubtedly has to hold her phone very close to her face. I could clearly see her contact lenses, of course, as clearly as I see them in your eyes. Just as yyou said, she had not made herself look as presentable as she normally would."

"Anything else?" John asked. Clearly Sherlock was going deeper into his deductions with both people in the room than he did when he discussed the matter with John after Maria left.

"She had been typing this morning, profusely, fast and for a reason." Sherlock went to his laptop and typed in something rather short, which took just one point five seconds.

"Aha!" He exclaimed, turning the screen round to John and Alex. They could both see that upon Googling Howard Angel, a missing person report had come up immediately. The description was just as Maria had said, but when she last saw him, he was wearing a scarf and coat – just as Sherlock did.

"I also made a mental note of Mr Angel's mobile number when she showed us the text messages. After Maria left I sent the information to Mycroft. He texted me back to confirm that Howard Angel's phone was 'pay as you go', not contract, and was bought with cash at a shop very close to Maria's stepfather's business address. A very old Nokia model, very cheap. I Googled his name after texting Mycroft, which is how I obtained Mr Windibank's business details, including his address."

Alex and John were very keen now, finding all this information extremely compelling. Maybe this case wouldn't require so much 'legwork' as the older Mr Holmes used to say with displeasure, but rather a lot of thinking. Thinking cases, rather than 'doing' cases was more Sherlock's speciality. The latter was more John's area. Alex liked a mixture of the two.

"Do you see the solution?" Sherlock asked the two people in the room.

"No, I just see the problem." John said.

"Put the problems in place, into a pattern and let it unravel. Alex?"

"Mmm?" She hummed.

"Is there anything about this case that interests you?" Sherlock asked her, interlocking his fingers as he took up the seat that Maria had occupied before.

Another short time passed in which Alex considered her answer. Having her brains picked by the superior mind of Sherlock Holmes was almost torture. She always expected him to delight in telling her she was wrong and laugh at her. Then, some of Maria Sutherland's story began to unfold in her mind, like an origami structure being dismantled into the flat, square sheet of paper it once was.

"It seems rather odd that she only saw this Howard when her father was away. It might be that they were looking to see one another at times when the father wouldn't be around but even before Windibank knew and expressed his disapproval of the relationship, they only met, and then met up when he was supposedly in France."

John grinned and turned to his companion who reciprocated.

"Well done! There's a bit more work to be done, mind."

"Do you think that Maria and Howard will be reunited, Sherlock?" Alex asked. He looked thoughtful for a moment.

"No." He said with the most positive enunciation.

"So… has he, you know, disappeared off the face of the Earth as she put it?" Alex enquired.

"Yes and no. No and yes. But for now all that needs to be done is for me to send two emails, one of which will be to Miss Sutherland's stepfather inviting him to visit here tomorrow evening at six. You will both be here, of course? Good." Sherlock said the last word without even looking at his companions or waiting for them to answer. Neither of them could say that they wouldn't be there. They didn't have anything else to do.

Sherlock declared that the matter be left in abeyance until Mr Windibank arrived the following evening. Taking up his violin, he played Bach and Mozart until Alex and John could bear it no longer. Sherlock was a wonderful musician but very soon it was time for lunch. They joined Mrs Hudson in her flat for tea and crumpets. After John and Alex did their regular ritual of soap watching for the evening, they decided to go to the cinema to watch Paranormal Activity 3. It was at the last night of showing and there was only one other person in the cinema other than John and Alex.

After being almost scared to death, they went home to find Sherlock Holmes still in the position he was in when they left him; knees up to his chest on his chair, hands clasped together and staring at the fireplace, which was very, very bright. However, it seemed he had been busy with his chemistry set, for the kitchen table was topped with test tubes, dishes, samples, slides, forceps, etc. To the best of Alex's knowledge that's where the great detective stayed until she came back to the flat the next evening.

Alex made her way upstairs at five to six the next evening after a day of writing and being scratched by Mitzie during their games of pounce and chase. Sherlock was indeed in the same position as before, but he had changed his clothes and was cleanly shaven.

"Where's John?" Alex asked. The detective turned his head forty-five degrees in her direction.

"I don't know. He was here a few minutes ago."

"Or, did you just think he was here and talk to thin air?" Alex couldn't help but feel smug when she noticed Sherlock roll his eyes at her.

Alex got them both a tea and tried her best to ignore the penetrating feeling of Sherlock's eyes on her while she executed the task.

"So, have you solved it?" Alex asked as she sat in John's chair.

"Mm? Oh yes, it was Barium Hydroxide."

"No! The Sutherland/Angel case."

"The case. Yes, it wasn't too difficult to figure out. Not much of a mystery really." Sherlock said as he released his fingers and leaned further towards the heat of the fire. Alex was quite baffled.

"Not much of a mystery. It _wasn't_ difficult to figure out? Are you saying you solved the case ages ago?" Alex said.

"Pretty much as soon as we said goodbye to Miss Sutherland."

"So, why did you not say anything as we said 'goodbye?'" John said as he entered the flat. He had been listening as he climbed the stairs and although quite drenched from the rain was engrossed in the case already. Sherlock displayed an expression of pleasure at his friend's presence but he was careful to keep it as surreptitious as possible. He turned his head back to the fireplace.

"It is a rather interesting case. The only issue is that the law cannot touch the man…"

"Well, ok then. Why did this man leave his girlfriend so suddenly?" John asked.

Before Sherlock could answer, the heavy sound of booted feet pounded up the stairs, taking two steps a time. A tall man of about thirty in a grey suit entered, his work bag in one hand and his soaked overcoat in the other.

"Ah, good of you to come, Mr Windibank, and thank you for returning my email so promptly." Sherlock said as he shook the visitor's hand. Jack Windibank in turn greeted John and Alex.

"I'm sorry I'm a little late, sir. Also I extend my apologies for the trouble my stepdaughter has brought upon you."

"Oh, not at all!" Sherlock exclaimed. It was hard not to detect sarcasm in his tone.

"She's always been rebellious. A bright child but does as she pleases most of the time. Tell me, how will you find this elusive boyfriend of hers? With all due respect I very much think that it will be an impossible task for you, Mr Holmes."

"Actually, I believe it to be a very possible task, Mr Windibank. More possible than you believe."

It was a moment before Jack Windibank reacted to this statement. After a couple of seconds he clapped his hands together before wringing them in anticipation.

"Excellent! I am glad to hear it and I'm sure my stepdaughter will too. So, have you got any leads?"

The detective standing opposite him held his calm and assertive gaze for a few seconds. His arrogance bubbling to the surface.

"Plenty. You see, I've been able to track down the details of the mobile phone that Mr Angel used. It was an old Nokia model, purchased at the phone shop a few yards from your business address. You're on the same network as Mr Angel, aren't you?" Sherlock was circling the man at this point, who was beginning to show signs of discomfort.

"Of course you are," Sherlock said before Jack Windibank could answer, "but the issue is that Mr Angel purchased the phone days before meeting Maria Sutherland, with cash and not on contract. It appears as if he was careful to take steps to not have his identity traced. Seems a bit off, don't you think, Mr Windibank?"

The tension was so tense it could be cut with a knife. Sherlock, as ever, clearly displayed his fearlessness and held his eye contact with the man in his living room. John was also glaring. Alex felt apprehensive.

"The phone Mr Angel used was bought at 12:15pm on 6th August, around the time that you go to lunch and on that date, you were not sighted on CCTV going to Starbucks as you usually do with your colleagues, but going in the other direction. The direction of the phone shop."

John and Alex exchanged glances. They both realised where this was going. It was becoming clearer now. There was a reason, a very good reason, for Mr Windibank's presence in the room that evening. The consulting detective had always been someone Alex admired for how human he was despite his cold and arrogant mask, but here was a side she had either nor seen or one that she had underestimated. This was the strength of the person underneath. He had nothing to gain by confronting Jack Windibank but to cut to the heart of the matter. There was undoubtedly a deep, dark and somewhat dangerous side to Sherlock Holmes. Witnessing this facet scared and unnerved Alex.

"Well, I'm sorry, Mr Holmes but I cannot waste my valuable time here…"

"Oh, yes. Time. You seem to have had a lot of it on your hands lately."

"Don't start making this about me!" Jack Windibank shouted. "Just let me know when you've caught this Howard Angel!" Sherlock grinned as he approached the man to give him the sternest expression ever. Once confirmation of the hierarchy in the room was established, Sherlock made his way to the door to the flat and locked it. He did the same to the kitchen door for it too was a way out of the flat.

"I have caught him." He said quietly, growling a little with his deep tone and returning to the living room.

"H-how?"

"Don't act the innocent. You know perfectly well what I'm talking about! That was a pure insult about me not being able to catch the culprit. This case has been the easiest I have dealt with in a while, do you really think I wouldn't figure it out? Come on, please, sit down, Mr Windibank and let's have a little chat."

John stood a little taller than normal and with the military gait and stance he had adopted from his army days, he stood by his own chair and pointed to it. Jack Windibank obeyed the boys' request. Alex took up a position at Sherlock's left as he sat opposite their visitor in his own chair. John stood his ground at Jack Windibank's right. The man opposite the detective was glaring at him, trying his hardest to stare Sherlock out. It wasn't working. Not even Moriarty himself could succeed at that attempt. A few seconds later, Jack Windibank folded. His lips quivered and eye contact between him and Sherlock Holmes was broken.

"You… you can't do anything. Nothing. I've done nothing wrong in the eyes of the law!"

"I quite agree, Mr Windibank." Sherlock confirmed, "However, your behaviour has been extremely unorthodox. It was a cruel and petty thing you did to your own stepdaughter. A girl who calls you 'Dad'." Sherlock emphasised the final noun to truly show its meaning.

"You _made_ her fall for a man that doesn't exist; a man she is still holding out for. I may, if you are amenable, Mr Windibank, go through the chain of events and please do correct me if I'm wrong!"

Sherlock was clearly loving every minute of this. He was ridiculing a man who thought he was clever, who thought he had got away with a vile and despicable act.

Sherlock leaned right back in his chair, closed his eyes and sucked in a long breath before speaking.

"Jack Windibank married Eliza Sutherland for her money and enjoyed the tidy income of her only daughter. But this could only be claimed while she lived at home. Losing Maria Sutherland's income from her uncle would have meant that he could no longer live in the lifestyle to which he had become accustomed. Maria is a young, feminine and pretty lady and surely she would find a partner soon or fly the nest once her own business was established. Maybe she would get married but of course only once she had fallen in love. She goes to college but before embarking on her course she clearly had a lack of a social life. In her own words, she is now a 'free-spirit' and has come out of her shell since coming of age. So what does Jack Windibank do when his stepdaughter goes to her mother's former business' work do? He colludes with his equally devious wife to impersonate a man with prescription sunglasses, applies a prosthetic stubble – as you clearly have fine facial hair and barely have to shave – turns up the pitch in his voice and becomes the epitome of Maria's perfect man."

"It was a joke! At least that's how I intended it to be at the start!" Jack Windibank cried, raising his hands high. The cheeks were rather flushed with embarrassment. Captain John Watson stood fast. Alex was shooting daggers at the callous gentleman in John's chair.

"Ha! She fell in love with Mr Howard Angel and never suspected he didn't even exist. He was the man of her dreams and her mother approved greatly. Once Maria had fallen for the guy, that secured the deal. She wouldn't go anywhere else, but the pretence could not be kept up forever. The convenient trips to France were becoming unmanageable but in Jack Windibank's favour, for he would stop the pretend trips and the meetings with his stepdaughter abruptly to break her heart and keep her at home for the time being for she would be too hurt to find love elsewhere. She will pine for Mr Angel for a long time and seek comfort from her mother and stepfather. Therefore, continuing to bring home three thousand pounds a month. That is the picture, Mr Windibank! You have been truly malevolent but _at least_ you refrained from taking the relationship to an intimate level. That would have been the most disgraceful act in your deceit imaginable."

Sherlock Holmes had resumed his previous position at the edge of his seat, glowering at his opponent. Jack Windibank ignored the venom from Sherlock's eyes and the tough aura surrounding John Watson to stand and make an obscene, smug noise at the consulting detective.

"You are right, Mr Holmes. Exactly right. But as I said before, I haven't broken the law. You and your right hand people here are doing so right now! You can't lock me in this room! It's illegal."

"Hmm. That is true, Mr Windibank." Sherlock said with a suave resonance, rising and making his way to the doors he locked earlier to unlock them. "However, you deserve a great punishment for your wrong doing by a woman whom she feels you should regard as your own. Alex, pass me my riding crop." Sherlock said softly and quickly as if it were immaterial to the conversation taking place in the room. The black stick was behind Sherlock's chair and Alex ducked to grab it and passed it to the detective's outstretched hand without taking her focus from the nervous man in the middle of the room. Jack Windibank stared at the item with an anxious expression and stance, realisation dawning on him of what Sherlock was going to do with it.

"This ought to even the odds. I don't normally do this for clients, but maybe I will…"

Scarcely had Sherlock began speaking when Jack Windibank had bolted for the door, fled the flat and then the entire building. All three made their way to the window to observe the cold-hearted bastard run down Baker Street as fast as he could, knocking several people out of his way as he went.

"My God, Sherlock. That was incredible!" Alex gasped.

"I know." He remarked as he took up his seat once more and his best friend took the other.

"How did you come to all those conclusions?" John asked, folding his arms and crossing his legs, shock and amusement showing in his expression.

"Howard Angel's conduct was suspicious from the start and when it came down to it, the only person who benefited from the act was Mr Jack Windibank himself. Angel and Windibank were never in the same room and the former only showed up when the latter was 'away'. When Maria reeled off her description of her boyfriend the sunglasses immediately alerted my attention. Mr Windibank obtained a cheap, untraceable phone."

"But how did you _know_?" Alex asked.

"Remember the email I sent to him? I sent another. To his workplace. I described what Howard Angel looked like – minus the items obviously donned to hide his true features – and asked if this person worked there. It was undoubtedly Mr Jack Windibank."

The air was silent for a while. The two men in the room gazed at the fire in contemplation of the evening. Alex made tea without asking but clearly they all needed it.

"What about Maria? Should she know?" Alex asked.

"No. It wouldn't be advisable. She would not believe it and her stepfather would deny it. It is best for her not to have her heart broken any more than it has been already."

"Yeah," John said as he drained his tea, "but that man will come unstuck one day. He'll do something that will be his undoing."

Sherlock smiled at his friend for making a correct observation. This case had not been the most trying for the detective, but was definitely of the greatest of interest to all of them.

**The end. I may do another update on an ACD story but I'm not sure. I might do another sickfic cos it's been sometime since Sherlock's migraine. Review if you like. xxx**


	31. Rain, Warmth and Chicken Soup

**Sorry for the delay. Been checking previous chapters for spelling, grammar and continuity errors, etc. You man notice that chapters 18 backwards have been changed a little, but just things like commas, etc. A slight change to "the scandal" though. See if you can spot it!**

**This may seem like a silly and pointless chapter, however, I just **_**had**_** to do a chapter about all three of them being ill. I like to alternate silly with serious – it gives the story a break.**

**Also, I am looking for a beta. There are SO many that I can't choose! I had a proof reader months ago but we have lost contact. If anyone is a beta reader and would like to critique my work, please PM me.**

It was a rather fun and eventful Friday when Alex had a night out for the first time in two months. As the evening progressed, she started to realised she had made some good friends in the London gay community. Friends who liked her company and not just because she could afford several rounds of drinks and lifts home afterwards. It was warming to feel wanted and socially accepted.

The group of men and women had spent the evening at a plush gay bar, downing flaming Sambucas and several pints of beer. They spent from half past eleven to half past three at a nightclub, still taking shots and from half past three till six o clock, Alex's new found friends opted to walk (or stumble) off the alcohol through the streets of London with burgers and chips.

After a few months of having not so much as a cheeky little snog, Alex met a very intriguing lady at the nightclub and, instead of grabbing a burger from the stall outside the club, accepted the exquisite woman's offer to go back to her place. Alex didn't need to be persuaded and stayed at the lady's flat until eight o clock in the morning after having no sleep at all and just a very strong cup of coffee to stop her keeling over from lack of sleep.

Deliriously happy and not in the slightest hungover, for Alex never touched a drop of alcohol, she took a slow stroll back to Baker Street just before office workers stepped out of their homes to take themselves off to Starbucks for the obligatory cup of coffee prior to starting long and laborious hours in glass and brick boxes.

Mitzie had slept in Mrs Hudson's flat that night. As much as Mrs H was fond of the kitten, she was very quick to hand her back. Alex cuddled Mitzie on the sofa and snoozed for a couple of hours. Mitzie woke her at lunchtime to let her owner know that she was bored and wanted to play. Alex was planning on going out again but not for all night as this wouldn't be fair on the kitten. Just a few hours at the pub and absolutely no clubbing or accepting invitations from women, Alex told herself. Even though she knew it would be very hard to resist considering the time of her life she had the night before.

Scarcely had she started to get ready when a little tickle appeared her throat. It progressed to a rough scratch as soon as Alex was all made up and ready. Not tonsillitis again, or a cold! With much protest from her inner party animal, Alex's self-discipline won and she decided to take a rain check on going out.

Following a reversal of the long process of making herself up for a night out and texting her friends to let them know she was ill, Alex scooped up a sleepy Mitzie from the sofa and settled beneath her duvet with her purring kitten at the foot of the bed, hoping that the cold wouldn't be too severe or that it wouldn't progress to the flu. The sleep was more like unconsciousness that made the hours of the night seem like just a few seconds.

It was barely seven in the morning when Alex felt little paws walking their way up her torso on top of the duvet. She faintly heard the familiar low rumble of Mitzie's purr. She had embarked on a ten hour sleep stint, longer than usual and much more than most boffins would recommend but it seemed as if she had not long gotten into bed.

Alex refused to open her eyes and meet Mitzie's normal wide-eyed morning glare. She felt too awful and her nose was rather blocked.

"Mew!" squeaked the impatient kitten. Alex sighed as she swallowed against a sore and swollen throat. She was about to get up, albeit very slowly, when a soft pad whacked her on the nose.

"Alright, alright, Mitzie Moo, I'm getting up!"

Each move was an effort and her head was swimming. Mitzie was all up for a play before being fed but had to settle for chasing a jingle ball across the floor to amuse herself while Alex filled the bowl with food for her companion. Porridge, tea and a honey and lemon drink didn't make her feel better. Her medicine cabinet only contained paracetamol and ibuprofen, which could work wonders but couldn't make the symptoms of a cold go away. So a trip to the pharmacy was in order. Plus a detour to the shops for something chocolatey and sweet.

Alex really couldn't tell how warm the flat was or what it was going to be outside. She guessed that her temperature was a little high and she shivered while getting dressed. When Alex entered the lobby to extract her coat, she pretty much almost sent John Watson flying by practically running into him. He was also getting ready to go out. Alex flew into a raspy flow of apologies. However, when she saw the doctor's face, she knew that she wasn't alone.

His face was ghostly pale but flushed at the plump of his cheeks and his eyes appeared to have sunk a centimetre into his head. He cleared his throat with more effort than he would normally and offered his own apologies, for he had also rushed into the lobby without thinking.

"You too?" Alex asked in whisper.

"Got a cold, you mean? Yeah. Sherlock's got it and all. But he's decided that a cold won't stop him so he's taken himself and his staunchly iron constitution to Scotland Yard at Lestrade's request - at five o clock this morning of all times." John said as he shrugged himself into his coat, rolling his eyes. He had put on a scarf, too – one of Sherlock's spares.

"Why aren't you with him?"

"Because I'm not an idiot!" They both giggled at the concept of that statement. It was true that Sherlock could be classified as a genius in many ways but a complete idiot in others. His disregard for his bodily needs, particularly when ill, was a typical characteristic of the latter.

"I'm going to get some medicine for the symptoms. You know what, Sherlock didn't seem bothered about the cold this morning, but mark my words: he'll come back soaking from the rain, shivering from the cold and his high temperature, exhausted, his sinuses will be killing him and he will barely be able to speak. Not to mention hungry and dehydrated. _Then_, he'll have no choice but to let his doctor take charge."

They exchanged smiles again. Just thinking about this made Alex feel both humble and amused at the same time. Sherlock would need some special attention when he would arrive home.

"He'll also need some food…" Alex said to thin air as she alighted on the brilliant idea of making chicken soup from scratch. Sherlock would need some fluid and some protein. Not to mention healthy veg and it looked from John Watson's flurry of coughs as he buttoned his coat that he would need some.

"I'll go to Asda and get some bits for dinner and I'll bring it up for you." Alex muttered as she Googled chicken soup recipes on her BlackBerry.

"That sounds rather nice. Mrs Hudson's been away for a week at her sister's and I'm kind of sick of cooking, so that sounds really great. Sherlock only cooks human body parts. I found something rather unmentionable sizzling in sunflower oil in the wok this morning!" John said as he gritted his teeth. Alex didn't want to imagine what it was so she returned to her earlier subject.

"Well, I feel that I owe you both over that ordeal with Moriarty. It's the least I can do." Alex added shyly. There was no way in the world that Alex could have prevented her kidnapping, or gotten herself out of the woods. Moriarty had also seen to it that she couldn't have called anyone else. Sherlock had taken her phone afterwards and trying dialing several numbers and the phone would not call them. Moriarty had disabled any chance of Alex calling anyone. But, somehow, two days after the event, all the contacts had miraculously reappeared! Text messages and the call log as well! Despite the happenings of the fifth of November, Alex could not stave off the guilt. Guilt that still tugged at her heartstrings as she felt she had once again put John and Sherlock to much inconvenience.

"No, you don't. You don't owe either of us. Moriarty left both you and us absolutely no choice in the matter. He wanted Sherlock to witness what he had done. So don't you feel guilty about that, you hear me?" John said, pointing his finger at Alex, who nodded in reluctant acquiescence.

Alex thought for a few seconds at how intuitive the doctor was. Even though Sherlock often mocked him for being stupid and unobservant, this man knew people. He could analyse emotions and human reactions on a personal level. It was kind of sad that the consulting detective only analysed such things academically. They said their goodbyes outside of 221b and embarked on their journeys in opposite directions.

The rain was torrential and Alex was saturated by the time she had got back from the shops. John had gone to the pharmacy for his bits and pieces and arrived home before Alex. She stripped off her soggy coat and extracted her BlackBerry from the plastic bag she had wrapped it in. The shopping was dumped on the floor and Alex started to text Molly to see if she wanted to come over when she heard raised voices coming from the flat above. Voices from poorly throats and blocked noses.

"How the hell should I know how to fix it? I'm not an engineer!"

"Surely you learned a thing or two in the army, John."

"Actually, no. Between learning how to use firearms and surviving in warzones, they couldn't find time to fit in how to fix a bloody boiler! Or maybe I was off sick that day! What about you? You're the genius."

"Yes, John, but there is no way I'm touching that thing. It's freezing, John! I'm soaking, I don't feel well and my throat hurts."

"Well, Sherlock, if you had thought about your damn health before running out on a case with a cold, in the pouring rain, you wouldn't feel this awful right now, would you? So stop wailing."

"It was a ten! How could I not?"

"Calm down! I'll ask Alex if she knows the number of that plumber Mrs Hudson uses."

"And what I am supposed to do in the meantime?"

"Light a bloody fire, wrap up, take paracetamol, drink plenty of fluids and make a cup of tea."

"John, I don't…"

"Shut up!" John silenced him. This was certainly the most authoritative stance the good doctor had taken with the detective

Alex had been listening and thought that this was a good time to intercept. She climbed halfway up the first section of stairs.

"I'm home, John! I've got the plumber's number on my phone!" Her voice cracked as she called. A grateful John Watson came scarpering down to meet her.

"That bloody childish…" John began to curse as he prepared to put the plumber's number on his phone. He noticed Alex was saturated and asked if she was ok.

The lobby did feel rather cold. It would be even colder upstairs, Alex thought.

"Shit, it's gone to voicemail." John sighed, before leaving a message.

"John?" The detective called from above. Alex and John could hear his voice quivering. John answered with a raspy "what?!" Alex heard Sherlock clear his throat before responding.

"When is he getting here?" John walked back up to 221b, leaving Alex to get to her flat and dry off. She was shivering uncontrollably, her neck had almost seized up and quite extraordinarily, she was starting to feel sorry for Sherlock Holmes, even though he could moan for England.

Mitzie seemed perplexed that Alex rushed straight to the bedroom without giving her a stroke. The kitten rubbed Alex's cold bare legs as she tried to get her pyjamas on, mewing in her high pitched kitten voice. It was too early for such attire usually, but today Alex really couldn't give a shit. It took a lot of strength to sort out the ingredients for a home made chicken soup after slogging around the shops in the rain. This was to be Alex's first ever attempt at making the dish. She silently cursed Mrs Hudson for steadfastly not revealing her own recipe when Alex asked her. The landlady had told her that a good cook never reveals her secrets. Alex had chosen the least complicated and healthiest recipe online.

Alex watched the stock bubble with the whole chicken inside it and the vegetables bobbing about. She sincerely hoped that it would work and she wouldn't accidentally poison her friends. Molly had to cover a colleague's shift at the last minute so she couldn't come over that day.

The recipe had been boiling in the large pot for half an hour when John called Alex.

"The plumber called, he's tied up today, he can't get here till tomorrow."

"What about another plumber?" Alex asked.

"I've tried three others but they're not available. I wondered if…"

"You and Sherlock could come to my flat?" Alex completed his question for him.

"If you could let us, please, just so we can warm up. Sherlock's bored but won't move from a crouched position on the sofa. And he won't stop whinging!"

"Ok, bring him and his laptop so he doesn't drive us both crazy. Please just give me five minutes."

Alex extended the sofa bed and matching chair bed and found some spare duvets. She whacked the heating up to 23 degrees Celsius and positioned a blow heater in front of the sofa. Mitzie immediately claimed the centre of the sofa bed and began kneading the thick cover whilst gazing at Alex with soft eyes.

"You'd better stop that and get off before The Big Bad Detective comes in!" Alex whispered playfully to the kitten. Mitzie finished her ritual and jumped down to attack her scratching post.

Sure enough, the door to her flat opened and heavy footsteps descended.

"Oh it is warm down here!" John said with a sigh. He was the first to appear followed by a very tall figure in a cream blanket. John had stayed in his jeans and knitted jumper but Sherlock Holmes had followed Alex's principle and donned his grey pyjamas. On his feet were thick black socks and Persian slippers. The blanket was draped over his head and Alex had to refrain from laughing. The most aloof and confident man in the world looked so cute and vulnerable she couldn't help but feel amused.

Mitzie greeted John by touching her nose to his outstretched finger and rubbing her cheek on it. Once the tiny creature saw the giant behind him, she fled to the bedroom. Sherlock's eyes followed her before transferring their gaze to the kitten's owner with a questioning in his look. He clearly didn't understand animals.

"She's just never seen you before and she's nervous. She'll come out soon, she's rather brave."

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders with a huff. Alex rolled her eyes as she went to check on the soup. The stock was thickening nicely, the veg was nice and soft but it still needed an hour or so to go.

As she entered the living room, she saw that Sherlock had taken up the whole of the sofa by crouching in the centre of it. He had wrapped the duvet around himself (still with the cream coloured blanket over his head) looking like a head stuck out of the top of a wigwam. He shock violently. His face was tense and pink and both John and Alex could tell he was bored. John had taken the bed chair and draped the duvet over himself. He offered a string of thanks and apologies to Alex, who played them down as best she could.

"Here," Alex said as she handed the telly remote to Sherlock, "knock yourself out."

He snaked a hand through the joined section of the duvet and, rather rudely, snatched it from her. Alex was exhausted by this point but still had dinner to tend to. She braced herself against the kitchen counter and tried to sniff. She couldn't. It just sent her into a coughing fit, her throat feeling as if it was being torn in all directions.

Twisting the wooden spoon in the brewing soup, she began to cry. Alex hated colds more than any other illness. She would even take the tonsillitis she had five months earlier over a cold any day! At least antibiotics worked on tonsils, she pondered.

"You ok?" John said behind her. He pressed his palm affectionately onto her back at first, then moved it around her right shoulder and pulled her towards him. John made some soothing noises as he hugged her. They giggled when they heard Sherlock start to become more like himself.

"Ugh, she's as stupid as you are, of _course_ that other woman's not the murderer! Look at her collar!"

"He sounds happier." John laughed.

As they both entered the living room, they saw that the detective's face had once again become blank. He was glaring at something beside the bed. The height of the bed obscured what it was, however, it wasn't too difficult to know what it was.

"Why is it doing that?" Sherlock asked.

"What?" Alex and John said together.

"It's staring at me…"

"That's what cats do, Sherlock. They communicate a lot with their eyes." Alex told him as she scrambled onto the bed to peer over the edge. Mitzie's look diverted to her owner's and she moved forward so that Alex could stroke her soft head.

"But why was it staring? What was it trying to _communicate_?" It was funny to see the genius so confused. Alex felt herself slightly exalted from the height of the detective and she thought that, for once and not for her writing skills, she would show off a bit.

"She's sizing you up, watching for shifts and changes in your expression. If she softens her eyes at you or gives a deep blink, it's a sign of affection. If she blinks and then looks away, it's a friendly greeting. If you blink at her and then look away, she may come to you."

He stared incredulously at her. Alex didn't respond, just smiled. He turned his head abruptly to stare at Mitzie, who joined his gaze. Feeling rather stupid (a feeling he hated more than anything, except for boredom), he blinked at Mitzie and averted his eyes. Seconds later, Mitzie stepped towards him whilst still looking at his face and reciprocated Sherlock's gesture.

"She blinked at you!" Alex cried. She pushed herself off the bed and Mitzie took her place. She sniffed the duvet and circled the makeshift tent before finally sitting down in front of Sherlock and once again giving him a long stare. Alex could swear that Sherlock's demeanour softened. Mitzie turned around to observe John who was grinning at her and she once again gave a deep blink to the doctor whom she knew well.

Leaving them to it, Alex felt it was time to serve up. She had made enough so that some could be stored for when they would be needed. The chicken fell off the bones easily. Alex was sure to place it in a colander with a bowl underneath to catch the succulent juices. It took twenty minutes to blend the vegetables and serve up.

John took his gratefully. Sherlock, on the other hand, grimaced as if it was a bowl of gunge.

"Just try it," Alex said as she read his reluctance, "and if you don't like it, fair enough. God, you're like a child!" She sighed as she left the living room to grab her own bowl.

Alex entered to the sight of John guzzling his soup like it was the last meal he'd get. The other man was sipping the broth from his spoon yet didn't look like he wasn't enjoying the soup. It was gratifying to see Sherlock Holmes actually eating good food.

Two hours and second helpings of chicken soup later, John was asleep on the chair bed. He had been stroking Mitzie as he settled and now the bundle of fur was curled up on his lap fast asleep. Sherlock had finally warmed up and no longer needed the blow heater. He still hadn't extracted himself from the billowy duvet. They had both been watching a murder mystery and Sherlock found the dynamics of acting and dramatisation versus real life rather tiresome. At least he was sure to keep his voice down.

He looked over at Alex who had brought out her carbon and graphite pens. She had sketched a rather rude caricature of John asleep in graphite and was now drawing him and Mitzie as realistically as possible.

"I hate being ill." Sherlock remarked at the ad break.

"Hmm. I'll second that." Alex said. Her throat was really grating now. The bin liner she had place between the sofa and the chair had been filled to the brim with tissues.

Slapping the pad and pencil down, not content with her picture yet not having the energy to finish, Alex scooped up her own duvet and prepared to leave to go to her room.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked her.

"To bed. I'm shattered. Night night."

"So you're going to leave me here on my own?" He almost looked sad.

"Well, the sofa's not big enough for the two of us."

"Why not? Here…" He said as he shifted to the side. Alex wasn't sure that she wanted to share a bed with Sherlock, even if he wouldn't be sleeping.

"Don't worry, I'll try not to disturb you." Sherlock said, stretching out his legs with a strain and covering his body. He plumped his pillows and sat upright staring at the telly. Alex tentatively laid down to have a nap, staring up at the man beside her.

"You should get some sleep." She said softly, drifting off.

"Why?"

"You might need it."

"I doubt it."

Alex laughed. Sherlock turned off the telly, tutting at the stupid people talking rubbish, and relenting to Alex's suggestion. He shuffled so he was facing away from her, curled in the foetal position.

"I won't be sleeping for long." He muttered after settling.

"Yeah, alright, Sherlock. Night now."

The detective didn't answer her. He was already out. Alex sighed and closed her eyes, finding sleep almost instantly.

**There it is. Told you it was pointless but I really wanted to write it like this. See you soon! **


	32. Christmas at 221b

The opening sentence of the latest entry of John's blog practically screamed Recipe For Disaster. Alex giggled contemplatively, imagining the scene the words would depict as she read the passage on John's laptop whilst they sipped hot chocolate at Speedy's. He had only uploaded it the day before.

On 19th December 2011, John had taken complete leave of his senses, and possibly his marbles, and escorted his eccentric flatmate Christmas shopping. A bad idea in the first place, Alex pondered as she sucked a long breath in through her lips to stifle her chortling before reading the rest.

Obviously, Sherlock and shopping would not mix in the wash. Add Christmas to that and you may as well call it Apocalypse. Reading on, her worst fears were confirmed.

The formidable duo had passed a Santa's grotto, seemingly perfectly normal and innocent but when Sherlock yelled at the resident Santa, and possibly to everyone in a half a mile radius, that he was 'bored and wanted a juicy murder for Christmas,' the PCSO on duty had to make a call and arranged for Sherlock and John to be escorted home.

Quite understandably, John was fuming with Sherlock – which was putting it mildly. However, this intense feeling had dissipated once they observed the visitor in their home waiting for their arrival and what she had to say.

The young woman had consulted them to ask for them to investigate the murder of a friend. It turned out that the guy was killed by his boyfriend. John had named it The Six Thatchers. John proceeded to deliver unto Alex the long version of the story after she read the blog and as much as a great murder mystery it was, it was funny to think of Sherlock humiliating his friend in public. All the same, she couldn't help but feel genuinely sorry for the doctor. Sherlock Holmes was a cross he had to bear.

"At least he got his Christmas wish!" Alex blurted out once the story was told, remorse washing her smile away seconds later. She had to pretend to sip her hot chocolate to disguise it. The doctor wasn't exactly impressed with her comment yet her statement couldn't have been more truthful.

Whether it was the moaning voice of the waitress in the café, the ditsy teenager in the corner gushing while on the phone to her boyfriend or an abrupt realisation, it occurred to Alex that Sherlock was still receiving regular texts from Irene Adler.

He never revealed to anyone what she said, although from Alex's chat with Sherlock at the pub, Irene would undoubtedly have been flirting with him. Asking him to have 'dinner' again? Alex and John never saw Sherlock reply, concluding from the lack of visual reciprocation of her aims to communicate with him that he did not do so in private either.

He would display a perfect impression of the best poker player in the world. Not a stretch of his mouth, not a flicker of his eyebrow would give away how he felt about that woman's fruitless begging. The text would receive the same attitude he would show if he were simply unlocking his phone. John had kept a secret tally in his notebook about the number of texts Sherlock received. So far it was 56. That woman was immoderately persistent!

Five days before Christmas, Alex had made her mind up over her intended place of celebration of the season, forthcoming 24th birthday and New Year. After spending every single festive period of her life with the family she never really felt part of, and being obligated to smile and laugh with people she really didn't want to be around, it wasn't exactly difficult for Alex to decide to spend Christmas 2011 at Baker Street, even though it was a tad disappointing when John announced that afternoon at Speedy's that he was spending Christmas with Harry. His effort to alert his best friend seemed to fall on deaf ears. Typical of the consulting detective. For once, Christmas jollifications would not include a rude and not superficially intended "Oh, happy birthday by the way". If there was one thing Alex hated, it was having people not bother with her birthday and believe that Christmas celebrations would suffice.

The next morning was a bitterly cold one and snow was falling in small scattered flakes floating in the steady breeze. Alex had arrived home just before eight o clock after taking herself to the gym a couple of hours earlier. Dawn had just about broken during her slow walk back home and it most definitely felt like Christmas. She could swear that a faint smell of mince pies filled the cold air.

Sherlock was in the lobby chatting with Mrs Hudson. Or was it that Mrs Hudson was nagging him about playing that bloody violin at three o clock in the morning and Sherlock was being his aloof self? As expected, he was ignoring her and rather busy donning his scarf and coat.

"Mrs Hudson, I'm sure your little problem could easily be fixed by implementing the intended purpose of a set of earplugs. I'd pick you up some myself but, you know, got better things to do!" Of course, it was her problem, not his.

"Don't give me that att… Alex! Where have you been, young lady?" The squeal coming from that little lady was almost frightening. The recipient of the question was stopped in her tracks and as wide eyed as a startled doe.

"Err… at the gym?" The usually confident Alex had morphed into a teenager being caught out coming home from sneaking out at night.

"Since what time?" Sherlock was watching them both. Something to take the edge of boredom: observe people arguing.

"Since six. Mitzie's ok, she was asleep when I left, I fed her and…"

"I know Mitzie's ok, I went and checked on her." Mrs Hudson said, "I just didn't know whether you'd spent the night out or not considering you left before I even woke up and I didn't hear you leave. Please tell me when you're going to go out so early in the future."

"Um. Ok?" Alex answered. "But you know I'd never leave Mitzie for that long and not arrange for her to be looked after."

Right in front of Sherlock Holmes, Mrs Hudson did what evoked a memory of the embarrassment she felt when her mother kissing her goodbye at school in full view of her friends. Mrs Hudson approached Alex and had pulled her, waist first, to her side, planting a smacker of a kiss on her cheek. The younger woman screwed her face up and wiped off the lipstick print that branded her flushed face. Sherlock was most amused.

"I think of you as a daughter. Don't let me worry about you again."

An awkward silence followed before Sherlock cut it with the knife in his voice.

"Bart's for me today. Can't stand one more lecture from the people of this household. Of course I don't mean you, Alex." He soothed, placing his hand lightly on her shoulder. Over his right shoulder was a small holdall. Must be important as Sherlock never carries a bag around with him, Alex thought.

"Bart's?" She asked as he opened the front door.

"That's what I said. Why?"

"I'll come with you if that's alright. I want to catch up with Molly anyway – Mit Moo will be ok till about midday. Is that ok?"

"Ok? I suppose…" Sherlock looked puzzled yet would appreciate her company rather than any other right now. He knew Alex wasn't the type to lecture.

"Why did you not want to talk to Mrs Hudson and John today?" Alex asked the detective when their cab departed Baker Street.

"You heard her. Wanting me to be to refrain from engaging in the one activity that keeps my mind active."

"Ok, but what about John? You two had another row?"

There was no response. Alex prompted him several seconds later even though his silence confirmed the answer was affirmative.

"He's spending Christmas with his sister." It was as if John had told Sherlock he was moving away permanently. The disappointment was evident in his face and voice.

"Is that a problem?" Alex asked. Again, there was no reaction. The iPhone in his right hand was not being used for his usual function and he just sat there, motionless.

"Sherlock, are you ok?" Alex checked. She wanted to reach for him. He actually looked sad, although this didn't last long.

"Did you know that Harry has told John that she's sober?"

"That's good then… hang on, you said _told_ him."

"Yes. She's not kicked the habit at all."

Asking 'how do you know?' was as pointless a question as asking Moriarty the meaning of life. Alex thought about her question hard prior to deliverance.

"What did you see?" They looked at one another grinning for a second before resuming the conversation. They both recalled their first case together when Sherlock put the same question to Alex and got surprisingly good answers.

"Her hands were twitching and shaking, she was wringing them constantly, trying to disguise it. She was jerky and anxious, not knowing what to say or where to sit. Harry wore more than enough make up to cover her face for a week, clearly trying to cover up ache and dark circles beneath her eyes which show she hasn't been sleeping well. A stain on the knee of her trousers showed she had vomited within half an hour of arriving at 221b – it had splattered on her knee and she had tried to remove it but the unsteadiness of her hands showed that her efforts did little more than just smudge the stain even more. John didn't notice this, as per usual…"

"Anything else?"

"The cuff of her blouse was stained with scotch – quite distinctive – she had bought a small bottle after being sick to try and take the edge off the withdrawal symptoms. She had been trying, and failing, to beat the drink. She fooled her brother easily."

"Hmm, but not you," Alex added, "which makes me think why he didn't notice her shaking and stuff."

"Because she told him she was clean and she believed him because he _wanted_ to. She made herself look half presentable so that her visual signs of continued alcoholism couldn't be detected. John likes to see the good in people, especially his little sister for whom he has an inner desire for rehabilitation."

A sudden notion then occurred to Alex and she had to ask him an essential question.

"Please, Sherlock, please don't tell me that you blurted out in front of them both about what you… observed?"

"No. I didn't 'blurt' it out as you so eloquently stated. I just… suggested, that's all…"

The last few words were rather incoherently muttered that Alex requested a repeat.

"Oh God, what did John say?" Sherlock couldn't look her in the eye. He stared out the window absently for several seconds. A prod in his ribs reminded him that a question had been asked. Alex was certainly not one for lecturing but she could be interminably persistent.

"Err, he, asked me to leave. She screamed at me that I was wrong, so I left."

Of all things Sherlock Holmes was, arrogant, incorrigible, vain and selfish, one thing that he certainly wasn't was boring. Any anecdote, however cringeable, was worth listening to.

As per usual, Sherlock was as quiet as a mouse during the trek to the lab. They crossed Molly in the corridor and all Sherlock had to do was smile at her and, in response, she gestured to the lab without uttering a word. Sherlock nodded curtly and entered said room, leaving Alex and Molly to themselves.

"What's he got in that shoulder bag?" Molly asked.

"Beats me. Don't care what it is. Anywho, you coming round to Baker Street on Christmas Eve? John's bringing Jeanette, Lestrade will there."

"Yes, I'll be there. Got a really nice present for Sherlock!"

Alex didn't know whether to be intrigued or disappointed. Molly still hadn't lost hope for her and Sherlock. It was hard not to feel sorry for her, however, on the other hand Alex felt like she wanted to knock some sense into the girl. Dare she mention Irene Adler? Best not.

"What did you buy him?" Alex asked.

"Gucci For Men. He only wears Eau de Cologne occasionally but I smelled the Gucci perfume and, oh God, it is so him!"

"Don't be offended if he doesn't wear it. He hardly pays attention to fashion so he _might not_…" This was the best point to try not to make Molly feel worse. Thankfully, the pathologist changed the subject.

"Sherlock told me the other day that John's going to see his sister for Christmas. Funny, I thought that John and Harry don't get on?" Molly said.

"I think they don't if they spend more than a couple of days together. Maybe it's just been so long it'll take a while for old issues to flare up. Hang on, Sherlock was here a few days ago? You mean after Sherlock got kicked out of the flat by John he came here?"

"Yeah, yeah he asked to look at some bodies. Don't know what for, though, he just randomly selected some drawers and went a bit mad with that magnifying glass of his."

Alex desperately wanted to change the subject. Sherlock was not boring at all as she had previously concluded, but him being the enduring subject of conversation was becoming rather tedious.

Molly was on her own at work that day so she could please herself when she had a break. After finishing her last report, she took an early lunch. Alex had to be home at midday so they lounged around with their paper cups of coffee in the canteen until half past eleven.

Once back at home, Alex learned that she was alone in the building. Mrs Hudson had gone to Speedy's to see Mr Chatterjee the manager, John was off doing God-knows-what and the only company was little Mitzie.

Before she took off her coat, she eyed the mail on the table. Besides the usual bills and marketing crap, there was a small cardboard box with a label displaying Sherlock's name and address, which was written in lovely curly handwriting.

Sherlock had once talked to, or rather educated, Alex on the difference between male and female handwriting. Apparently men would often write with a slant, small spaces between words and lines, few punctuation points and sometimes the writing would be rough and hurried. Women would generally have neater writing, perfectly formed 'O's with adequate spacing and they would clearly have taken their time.

This writing was almost calligraphy style. She who wrote this label had taken the time to make the address impressively neat. Whatever was inside was undisputedly a Christmas present. A woman wanting to impress Sherlock Holmes? There would only be two candidates: Molly Hooper and _Her_.

Molly was Alex's best friend and she knew her writing well. Molly would never write like this.

Although she seriously wanted to rip open the box and stuff whatever it was in the bin, it was best to leave it and let Sherlock take it. It was probably some more photographs – of Irene Adler naked so he wouldn't forget her? Alex shuddered at this thought.

Almost immediately, Sherlock entered the flat, nearly knocking Alex off her feet.

"Hello." He said casually and, ignoring Alex and the package that was blatantly waiting for him, he strode towards the stairs.

"Sherlock, there's a…"

"Oh, yes, Alex, I've got to return this to you." He said, cutting her off. He opened his shoulder bag and extracted a large bottle of half used shower gel.

"This was your one? I know the smell a mile off. Peach and elderflower, quite nice."

Alex was in a state of shock. All she could do was yell.

"You nicked my shower gel?! For what?"

"Oh, it's ok. I took John's, Mrs Hudson's, one of Lestrade's from his locker at Scotland yard…"

"Sherlock, you can't take stuff that doesn't belong to you without the owner's permission! Surely you know that, don't you?"

"Yes, but I'm returning the property now. That's not stealing."

"What is it then?"

"Reasonable acquisition. I borrowed them. Just for an experiment. I needed just a drop from each, you won't notice." He turned to go up the stairs once more. Alex wanted to be mad at him, she really did. However, she was far too tired. She made one more attempt at telling him that a package had arrived but he sprinted up the stairs so fast that it was pointless to even try to.

It was snowing at Christmas Eve on Baker Street. Lovely, soft and cotton wool like. No wind, no bitter, biting breeze to cut through the skin. Just static cold air and the smell of Christmas food on every corner of London. Alex had gone round to Molly's to give her presents to her and they were going back to Baker Street together.

Molly was certainly looking beautiful. Maybe a bit over the top, but the figure hugging dress with diamante straps suited her down to the ground. She had curled her hair and used a spare present bow to place on the side of her head. Toby was going mad around the flat after a hit of catnip and Molly had to change her tights just before they were about to leave when the crazy cat accidentally caught her leg, causing a ladder.

The cab ride took a while. Although the snow was thick and crunchy, the roads were rather icy. The gritters had been out but not over all of the streets of London. They had clearly gone down the central London streets, including Baker Street. The girls were thankful that they had got to 221b in one piece. Alex thought Molly was a little of her trolley to even consider wearing stilettos on snow covered ground, but there was only a few paces to walk. She had put on a faux fur coat and carried a large heavy bag up the stairs to the flat. Voices were coming from upstairs, or rather one voice. Sherlock. Talking very fast, probably deducing something.

"Hello, everyone!" Molly cried cheerfully as she entered. Alex could have sworn that Sherlock made a remark that sounded like 'oh, dear Lord.'

Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, John and his girlfriend Jeanette were all very merry (except Jeanette who didn't look like she wanted to be there) whilst enjoying 'Christmas drinkies', as Molly put it. The fire was going and the multi-coloured lights as well as the lamps and kitchen lights were illuminating the room beautifully. Jeanette had made mince pies and Alex helped herself to one. Lestrade offered the girls a drink.

"Thank you." Molly said to the DI, "I didn't expect to see you. I thought you were going to be in Dorset for Christmas."

"That's first thing in the morning. Me and the wife. We're back together, it's all sorted."

"No, she's sleeping with a PE teacher." Sherlock cut in.

Oh God. Alex pondered, rubbing her face. This is not going to be a pleasant evening at all.

**Thanks for reading. X**


	33. The Two Women

Lestrade's face was a picture. The declaration of his resolved marriage issues was evident in his happy grin, which changed to an embarrassed and shocked smile as the realisation of Sherlock's words hit him. He turned around to face the kitchen, apparently to get another drink. It wasn't hard to work out he wanted to disguise the horror in his expression whilst the truth dawned on him. He had a genuine respect for Sherlock, and trusted his astute, although not infallible, judgement. Although it was brutal, he was not about to challenge him. Maybe in some way he knew. He just needed confirmation from an outside observer. The most proficient observer in the world.

Molly didn't feel the need to ask Lestrade anymore questions. She almost instantly turned her attention to John.

"And, John, I hear you're off to your sister's? Is that right?"

"Yeah." John answered.

"Sherlock was complaining…" Molly said, eyeing the detective. Alex gritted her teeth, knowing that the look he gave Molly afterwards said it all. She completed her sentence;

"…saying."

"First time ever she's cleaned up her act." John cut in, "She's off the booze!" He said as he raised his glass, toasting to Harry's (failed) victory.

"Nope." Came from the mouth of the detective.

"Shut up, Sherlock." John returned. Like with Lestrade, knowing something is happening while being in denial was almost comforting. When the truth hurts, it hurts. John's answer to someone blurting out the reality of a situation was simply 'shut up.' Alex contemplated the difference in Lestrade and John's reactions. John clearly never walked on eggshells around his friend. Sherlock was the next to speak. Another observation, this time meant at the most innocent person in the room.

"I see you've got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you're serious about him." He smirked as he turned to her, still sitting at his desk with his laptop on and open.

"What? Sorry, what?" Molly said following a sip of wine.

"No, she hasn't." Alex interjected.

"In fact, you're seeing him his very night and giving him a gift!" Sherlock went on.

John took a sharp breath out and Lestrade went to get a drink for Sherlock.

"Take a day off." The former sighed.

"Shut up and have a drink." The latter said, putting the glass on the table in from of Sherlock. He, of course, ignored everyone, as he usually did.

"Oh, come on. Surely you've all seen the present at the top of the bag? Perfectly wrapped with a bow. All the others are slap dash at best. It's for someone special, then."

Alex went to intervene and try her best not to punch his insolent face. However, Sherlock had already picked up the red box. The people in the room stood there helpless. One thing was for sure; nobody felt more embarrassed at that moment than the lady whom he was addressing.

"Shade of red echoes her lipstick, either an unconscious association or one that she's deliberately trying to encourage. Either way Miss Hooper has _lurve_ on her mind. The fact that she's serious about him is clear from the fact that she's giving him the gift at all."

Molly didn't know where to put herself. Alex wondered if she would break down any second and storm out of there. One thing she knew was that whatever Sherlock would throw at her best friend, Alex would stand by Molly. There was no dispute about that. The detective continued is performance.

"That always suggests long-term hopes, however forlorn, and that she's seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she's wearing. Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts…" He lingered on the last consonant for some seconds as he turned over the tag to reveal the name. The reason for the cease in his speech was evident in his face. He didn't need to say it. The words in his mind were written all over him: 'Oh, shit…' He breathed in deeply and took a small step back.

What Molly did, or rather said next, surprised everyone in the room. Instead of crying, she stood firm. Finally, she got to say what had been on her mind for a while. She saw that Alex was going to intervene but she raised her hand a little to show that this was her time to speak.

"You always such horrible things. Every time!" She laughed with the understanding that he had deliberately disrespected her in public. Clutching her glass of wine, she waved her hands and shook her head to display her disappointment in him.

"Always, always…"

Molly wasn't the only one to shock people that evening. Sherlock's face looked uncharacteristically… repentant. Sad even. He turned to his right to attempt to leave the room. He would have probably collided with Alex on the way. However, something in his being must have told him that this was the wrong thing to do, for he returned to his spot in front of Molly and said something he had mentioned a few times in the seven months Alex had known him, but not actually meant it. Until now.

"I am sorry. Forgive me." She stood there, solemn. He looked her directly in the eye and very slowly stepped towards her. In that deep, gentle voice of his, he spoke softly to her.

"Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper."

He kissed her cheek lightly and smiled gratefully as he pulled away. His usual arrogance would have told him to behave in a way that would make it seem as if he had completely redeemed himself and deserved empathy. On this occasion, he remained modest. A word that was not normally associated with this man. It wasn't a new side to him. Alex was already aware that this was him. A small part of the real man peering through a window of the fortress and it was a breath of fresh air.

Seconds later, the sound of Irene's climax pierced the atmosphere. Alex rolled her eyes as Molly's mouth fell open.

"Oh, no that wasn't… I didn't…"

"No, it was me." Sherlock answered.

"What?" Molly asked.

"My God, really?" Maybe Lestrade had one too many beverages.

"My phone." Sherlock answered as if they were both too stupid to have worked it out. However, his tone and demeanour hadn't become the same old Sherlock they knew. He retained that gentleness he showed moments before.

He read the text, looked over to the mantelpiece and picked up another small red box, similar to the one that Molly had wrapped for him. They were both about the same size. The type of boxes to hold a phone.

"Fifty-seven?" John queried.

"Sorry, what?"

"Fifty-seven of those texts, the one's I've heard."

Sherlock remarked how thrilling it was that John had been counting before he excused himself from the living room to go to his bedroom, with the little red box in his hand. He had placed Molly's present next to his laptop. John tried to go after him but the door was slammed in his face.

Molly had seen him pick up the other box and although she couldn't be certain, her exchange of glances with Alex told her that maybe she wasn't the only woman who was in love with Sherlock Holmes.

"You ok?" Alex asked Molly. She nodded but clearly wasn't. Alex kicked herself for not standing up to Sherlock for her friend. But there was nothing she could do about it now.

"Wow, Molly." John exclaimed as he walked back into the living room. "An apology, a _sincere_ apology _and_ a kiss from Sherlock Holmes? I am gobsmacked!"

"I'll toast to that!" An inebriated Lestrade chimed.

"I think he's ok." John said quietly after some more minutes of awkward silence. Molly decided to go home after an hour, not liking the tense air. She asked if Alex wished to accompany her but she declined. Alex wondered whether Molly was trying to grapple with the two notions buzzing round her head. One was that she had a competition and she had just received two things from Sherlock that he seldom gave.

The detective did not emerge from his room in that time. It wasn't until two hours after Molly left in a cab, looking like her eyes would explode with tears, that Sherlock vacated his room. His face was expressionless, soft and the contours remained flat as if he wore a marble Sherlock mask.

With an aloof yet solemn stride, and as if Lestrade, John, Mrs Hudson, Jeanette and Alex were not there at all, he walked out of the kitchen at the door closest to the stairs and padded softly down them. Nobody asked how he was and where he was going. It didn't seem right.

Just as the second the door clicked, John's phone rang.

"Mycroft? What's up?" John stood still for over a minute. Mycroft's voice was so quiet nobody could make out whether any voice was speaking the other end at all. When John next spoke, everyone knew it was serious.

"Ok. Thanks. I'll do it. Bye." John turned to address the party.

"Mycroft has gone with Sherlock to Bart's because Sherlock has reason to believe that… Irene Adler has passed away."

"Oh dear. Who's Irene Ad… who?" Lestrade slurred. He was too pissed to know what was going on. He had consumed several glasses of wine and cans of beer since Sherlock made his hurtful, however honest, deduction about his wife's infidelity. The tactless and undiplomatic remark had caused a reaction in the inspector that seemed to only be quenched by the comforting effects of alcohol.

"Mycroft's insisting that we check everything again, all the usual places or unusual if you can think of any."

"Hang on, check what?" Alex asked.

"Err… You don't know, do you? Um, Sherlock was a user some years ago and sometimes, oh how can I say it? A 'trigger,' can cause a relapse."

Alex stood with her mouth gaping. Sherlock used drugs?

"What the f…"

"Alex, don't swear. I'll check the bedroom." Mrs Hudson said as she bustled off to the room behind the kitchen. She seemed to know Sherlock's bedroom more than anyone else for she was constantly cleaning it for him. He wouldn't even make his own bed.

"John, you never told me that…" She was still raving. Going a bit over the top, possibly.

"Yes, alright. Sorry, but it just never seemed to be relevant before. Now we all need to look. Mycroft will let me know when Sherlock is on his way back. Mrs Hudson! Make sure you don't put something out of place. Not even by a millimetre if you can help it. You know how funny he gets about that."

Alex had no idea where to start. John checked the mantelpiece and the two shelves either side of it and he instructed Alex to check the desk and many piles of paper in the room. Being someone who had never touched a drug in her life, Alex only had a vague idea what she was looking for. Bags of white powder, syringes, etc? She had led a closeted life in many ways. Most people didn't want to be friends with her because of how prim and proper and 'goody-goody' she seemed. She didn't care, though. She found nothing.

"You not helping?" Alex asked Jeanette, only realising afterwards that her question was quite rude. However, Jeanette was no better. She had refused to help and had plopped down on the sofa to demonstrate her protest. She didn't like Sherlock at all, so she wouldn't do anything to help him. Even to help her boyfriend help him.

"No, actually!"

Alex huffed, muttering something under her breath about Jeanette being a selfish something or other. She caught in the corner of her eye a disapproving look from John who didn't appreciate his girlfriend being criticised. It didn't really matter at this point, anyway. Sherlock was John's main concern. Alex was desperate to ask John a question but wasn't sure how to put it.

"John? Um, do you reckon that, if Irene has indeed died, would it really cause a relapse? I mean, do you think that Sherlock… _fell in love with her_?" Alex emphasised the last words incredulously. Would a man like Sherlock Holmes fall for someone who humiliated him the way she did by outwitting him? Would he fall in love _at all_? It was a strange concept. John stopped what he was doing for a second.

"I… don't know." He said after a long breath. "If Mycroft thinks it's worth being concerned about, we should be on the safe side. Keep looking."

Alex had to, politely mind, ask Jeanette to take herself off the sofa so she could search it, behind and under it. At least John's girlfriend was willing to comply to a certain extent.

Lestrade was fumbling in the drawers but was not helping matters given how plastered he was. He had to ask several times what they were looking for. Eventually, his presence was more a burden than of assistance and John had him taken home in a cab.

"Clean. Nothing at all. You found anything?" John asked Alex.

"Nope."

He sighed and noticed the look on Jeanette's face. To say she didn't look happy was being kind. Although Alex didn't think much of her, well she didn't know her really, she felt a bit sorry for the poor cow. Being second best, being underappreciated. A feeling that Alex was familiar with and she wouldn't wish it on anybody. Before John could attend to his neglected other half, his phone rang. Jeanette rolled her eyes.

"Mycroft. Mmm. Did he take the cigarette? Oh shit. He's coming, ten minutes." John said to Mrs Hudson and Alex. The latter was still making some attempts to go over old ground but was finding it fruitless.

"There's nothing in the bedroom." Mrs Hudson said to John. She stood beside the stained glass door to the kitchen.

"It looks like he's clean, we've tried all the usual places. Are you sure tonight's a danger night?"

Hmm, that term's been used before, Alex pondered. Tonight was not an enjoyable one at all. A selfish part of Alex wanted to go 'sod this' and return to her little flat and the kitten waiting for her, immediately. But she couldn't leave. Not yet.

"I've got plans… Mycroft? Mm?" John huffed as he lowered the phone to his side before placing it in his jeans pocket. Mycroft had obviously hung up after very certainly ordering him to cancel his plans for Christmas to supervise his baby brother. Poor Harry wouldn't be a happy bunny. Alex was about to vocalise her thoughts but was stopped by the full palm of Mrs Hudson's hand signalling 'halt' as soon as her mouth opened. She shook her head at Alex once the palm was no longer in mid-air. It wasn't the right time for remarks.

"I am so sorry." John apologised as he sat on the sofa with Jeanette.

"You know my friends are so wrong about you," John titled his head to question her statement. Her tone was dripping with sarcasm. The punch line was fast approaching.

"You're a great boyfriend." Jeanette added.

"Oh, that's good. I always thought I was great."

Oh dear, Alex thought, John was setting himself up for a let-down. Jeanette checked her watch as she finally delivered the reason for her compliment.

"And Sherlock Holmes is a very lucky man!" She quickly got up from the sofa, putting on her scarf and large blue coat.

"Jeanette, please…"

"No, I mean it! It's heart-warming. You'll do anything for him and he can't even tell your girlfriends apart."

"No, I'll do anything for you, tell me what I'm not doing, tell me." John cried out in desperation to save his relationship.

"Don't make me compete with Sherlock Holmes!"

It was a reasonable request, in theory, to ask Doctor Watson to not have his girlfriends compete with Sherlock Holmes. However, not achievable in reality. Jeanette seemed as desperate as John Watson. Seeing them standing face to face with one another, Alex could see what Sherlock meant when he was lost in thought about the fact that either Jeanette was two point four inches taller than John, or if it was just her hair. The thought came and went from her mind as she reminded herself that she was observing the break-up of one of her closest friends. All she could do was watch. This was their moment and neither Mrs Hudson not Alex could intervene. John's proposed resolution was positively the most amusing thing Alex had ever heard.

"I'll walk your dog for you. There, I've said it, now. I'll even walk your dog for…"

"I don't have a dog!" Jeanette yelled at him. John's response was almost in complete whisper. It seemed to spell out that he admitted defeat.

"No, because that was… the last one."

"Jesus!" She exclaimed. Jeanette left the room and meant never to return as she calmly descended the stairs. She held both her dignity and head very high with her pride intact.

"I'll call you." John called out.

"No!" Was the response. Alex felt a wave of respect for Jeanette at that moment. Very different from the rather low opinion she had before. It was then that she actively thought that maybe, _maybe_, she was rather too opinionated about other women without knowing them well enough.

She occupied Jeanette's old spot on the sofa as the image of Irene Adler came to her mind. Alex didn't like her. Not at all. But each and every single person on this planet needed someone to love them. It was hard to think of Irene Adler as loveable. The same could be said for Sherlock. However, as John had written on one of his earlier blog entries, Sherlock was rather 'strangely likeable', 'charming' and 'fascinating.'

Irene was so like Sherlock in many ways. Was it possible that in his very complex brain, and even more enigmatic heart, that he unconsciously felt an inscrutable connection with the woman? Was it a meeting of minds, of two people who understood one another completely? It was a simple hypothesis although a complicated one. If Sherlock was upset by the news of her death, Alex would respect it. She didn't feel anything for Irene, but as much as she often referred to her as _that_ woman, she didn't hate her.

"Hate's a strong word; use it at your peril." Alex's mum had said to her daughter as a child.

A piercing noise broke the quiet moment, followed by a word coming from Alex's mouth that Mrs Hudson would not approve of. Her discontent fell away when she saw the caller ID.

"Molly?" There was no actual answer, just plenty of sobbing.

"Molly, what's wrong?" Alex took herself downstairs and into the lobby to continue the call.

"It's Sherlock…"

"Is it ever anyone else?" Another thought that came out her mouth before speaking.

"Don't be like that!" Molly cried down the phone, "I just need to talk to you. Can I come and stay with you tonight?" Her sobs intensified.

"Yeah, of course, but Sherlock will be back soon. In like a minute or two."

"I don't care. He'll be upstairs, I'll come straight to your flat."

"What about Toby?"

"My brother's here for Christmas, it's ok."

Sherlock came home immediately as soon as Alex and Molly's phone conversation ended. He ignored Alex's presence in the lobby and walked up the stairs with the same dispassionate frame of mind he had left the building with. Alex made no attempt to speak to him. She went to her own flat and was greeted with a harsh "Rrrraaaooowww!" from Mitzie, who still had food left but had made her owner aware of how bored she was by playing with the loo paper and strewing it in a long train from the bathroom to the living room. She cleaned it up without scolding the little one. She was only a baby and didn't know better. Alex got out her laser pen and let Mitzie have a good play with the small red dot that emitted from it for twenty minutes before the kitten stretched herself out on rug in front of the sofa to have her evening nap.

Molly was in 221c Baker Street within half an hour, her face was stained with streaks of foundation and mascara. Her hair was frizzy now, not in lovely curls as it was earlier that evening.

Initially believing that Molly's crying fit was in connection with the rant that Sherlock had spilled earlier, Alex was rather shocked at what Molly told her about the events at Bart's.

She had gone home and fallen asleep with Toby curled up beside her on her bed. Her brother was rather engrossed in the Top Gear Christmas Special and hadn't noticed her come in. A phone call had woken her up. It was a member of staff at Bart's. There were no other personnel available to open up the mortuary that evening so Molly had agreed to go along. The prospect of being in the company of Sherlock Holmes was such a great motivator that she was more than happy to do the night shift at a minute's notice.

Mycroft had given her a brief description of the deceased. The one best fitting was wheeled out. After being warned that the face was probably too difficult to recognise, given that it was rather disfigured, Sherlock had nonetheless been shown the face but had asked to see 'the rest of her.'

Molly obliged and showed the woman's naked body to both the men. After just two seconds, Sherlock had identified the body as Irene Adler and promptly left the mortuary. She tried asking Mycroft why Sherlock was able to recognise the woman not by her face. He was not able to answer her.

There was little Alex could say or do to make Molly feel any better. The tears were over rather quickly although Molly would not be able to forget that evening for a very long time.


	34. Ice On The Road

**Hiatus lifted! **

**FYI: I don't know if there is a carol and mince pie service at Trafalgar Christmas evenings – just thought I'd throw it in there.**

**Also wish to thank my beta reader, siriuslyholly for her support and helping me become a better writer. Go check out her fics!**

Molly woke Alex with a cup of tea at six o'clock on Christmas morning. Neither of them found it hard to rise that morning, which was a change compared to most days. One thing that both ladies had in common was their childlike love of the festive period. Christmas day could never be long enough. They were kids again, unwrapping their presents so impatiently that anyone would think there would be no Boxing Day. It took less than two minutes to open everything, which was remarkable considering there were over twenty presents.

In the still-dark crispiness of Christmas morning, they observed the small patio to the rear of Alex's flat next to the kitchen and saw that it had continued to snow overnight. Some of the branches on the trees were so heavily laden with snow that they drooped down to the patio itself and small icicles had formed on the downward pointing branches. Snow on Christmas Day was extremely rare in London so it was rather special to see it fall so beautifully and lay so thickly on the one day of the year when snow was desired above any other type of weather.

There was no breeze at all; it was just a quiet, calm and peaceful Christmas morning.

The girls had made plans the night before to return to Molly's flat, check on her brother, see to Toby, venture out again and make a snowman in Hyde Park before joining the several-thousand strong population at Trafalgar Square for carols and mince pies at dusk. Alex was so distracted by the fact that this was her first Christmas away from home that her mind was overflowing with ideas. She was running through a festive story and she had almost half constructed it in her head by the time Mrs Hudson summoned all members of the household, including Molly, to her flat for a cooked breakfast. One failed to attend. That one was Sherlock Holmes.

Molly looked rather glum as she nibbled at the fried items on her plate, eyeing the empty space opposite her. Alex knew that it would have taken the presence of the tall and attractive detective in the room to bring the fire back to Molly's hazel eyes. Each breath seemed like it was agony for her.

Much the same could have been said for John. He texted Sherlock a couple of times and, seated at Mrs Hudson's dining table, he glanced every so often in the direction of his landlady's front door, sincerely hoping that his best friend would join them. He didn't.

After gobbling down his second bacon and egg sandwich, washing it down with a cup of tea in one gulp, John quickly rose before setting the cup down and announcing his departure.

"I'm so sorry, guys. He's obviously not coming. I'm going to go back upstairs to check on him. Enjoy your breakfasts. Merry Christmas, I'll see you later."

An air of disappointment floated around the three women in the room, however, they understood and respected the fact that John would look out for Sherlock whether Mycroft insisted or not. Those two friends were as thick as thieves, whether they admitted it or not, and John especially was so devoted to Sherlock that such acts of affection made so many people believe they were a couple.

Watching him leave, Alex didn't know whether John embodied the aura of a doctor attending to a patient or simply a man being there for a friend - he seemed to adopt a cross between a soldier's march (unnecessary as Mrs Hudson's flat was tiny) and an authoritative gait that a medical professional would display when resigning to their duty.

The three ladies sighed and kept rather silent. The mutual feeling of uneasiness and concern was simmering. Mrs Hudson's expression was one of a mother whose son had had his heart broken for the first time – like she wanted to fix it but didn't know what she could do. This little thought circled Alex's brain for some time, however, she didn't dwell on it. Not for now. At some point, she would have to return to her thoughts about Sherlock and Irene. Like she had half-read Romeo and Juliet; she would have to finish it, yet there were other things on her list at that moment.

Mitzie was also experiencing the festivities of Christmas. Mrs Hudson had bought a fillet of smoked salmon for her, which she had half-finished and was now sleeping it off on Mrs Hudson's recliner chair. She had already tired herself out by playing with a new wrestle toy that had been filled with catnip. Her first experience of the wonderful herb.

Several hours of Christmas Day telly later, Molly and Alex felt their bellies begging for food again. Lunch at Mrs Hudson's flat consisted of homemade mince pies and a spicy soup that the landlady had made. Afterwards, the girls donned their walking boots to brave the icy paths of London.

The white and glassy ground wasn't as bad as they initially thought. There was still soft snow around to tread on rather than the hazardous slippery surfaces. The seven mile walk to Molly's flat took over two hours. During the journey, when they had least expected it, the two friends had been ploughed with snowballs from an unknown source. Once they had realised that they had been tagged as moving target practise by some youngsters, they had to dodge several missiles from the kids that decided to charge at them with handfuls of snow. Eventually, they had to outrun the children and hide. Although it wasn't their idea of fun, playing an impromptu game of 'hide and seek' and being pelted with balls of proved rather amusing and got their adrenalin pumping.

Once they arrived at the flat, Molly and Alex noticed that Molly's brother, Alan, had vacated the flat and left it in a right state. Poor Toby had found that his basket had been moved onto the table with dirty washing placed on it. He had to lie down on the arm of the sofa as this was the only part that was not all tossed or turned or covered in clothes that hadn't seen a washing machine in an interminable length of time.

Alan had left a note saying he would be back for his possessions – not once thanking his sister for putting him up. No Christmas card or present and not even a Merry Christmas.

"The little sod's expecting me to wash his clothes for him!" Molly stated in anger. The girls stared at one another and shook their heads in disbelief. Molly hardly ever used any profanity, either mild or strong, but her brother could be a downright so and so.

There was no way that Molly was going to do her lazy brother's laundry. It was thrown into black bags and dropped on the bottom of the stone stairs that led to Molly's flat, which was on the second floor of the building. She sent a text to Alan, politely letting him know where his possessions were even though he would discover for himself that he would be shown the same courtesy that he had given his older sibling, which was none at all.

It took an hour to straighten out the flat. Once they were done, Toby snuggled on Molly's chest and fell asleep. They settled down to watch Tomorrow Never Dies before going out again. Alex always thought that this was the best Bond film and with the best theme song.

"Who was that woman?" Molly blurted, randomly.

"The dead woman?"

"Yeah. Seriously, Alex. Please tell me, i won't be able to let it go otherwise. How did he recognise her naked body?"

Alex muted the telly and told Molly the story of what had happened three months ago; how Sherlock, John and Alex were given the absolute pleasure of having a full view of almost everything Irene had to offer. Sherlock had deduced her measurements and it was probably using this same observation technique that he knew the body was Irene Adler's as well as his extraordinary memory and eye for detail.

Molly seemed relieved afterwards although apparently concerned that Sherlock had taken such an interest in another woman that wasn't her. They resumed the film but it was pointless. Her feelings had peaked.

"Molly, you're on a bit of a rollercoaster, aren't you?" Alex said. Molly lowered her eyes to her sleeping cat and cuddled him closer, if only to distract herself.

"Have you ever loved someone who didn't love you back?" Molly half whispered.

"Yes, actually. Twice. One was an unrequited experience between the ages of nineteen and twenty-one. She barely knew me or cared that I existed. The other was when my ex dumped me, told me she didn't love me and I had to come to terms with the fact that I loved someone more than life itself who didn't give a shit about me." Alex told her. Molly was quiet for a while and continued to look at Toby, who made a chirping noise as he arched his back before leaving Molly's warm body for his own little basket.

"I do love him. I can't help it."

"That's obvious. But I can tell you now that even if he did return your feelings, there will always be _her_. I'm sorry to have to break this news to you, darling, but it'll never happen. Friendship, maybe. Irene was just as cold and calculating as Sherlock. A machine can only love a machine and you, Molly Hooper, are not one of those."

"You can be really blunt when you want to be, can't you, Alex?" Molly never really got upset but Alex's cold words hit her hard. She got up from the sofa harshly and clutched her head

"I'm sorry, I just don't see the point…"

"No, you don't see it do you? I love that man with all my heart and all you can say is how he's a machine and that he'll never love me! He's not a machine. He's not…" Molly was on her feet and sobbing. It wasn't pleasant to see her like this.

"Molly, I don't want to upset you." Alex soothed as she walked towards her. Molly put her hands up in defence.

"You're just like him, you don't care!"

"I do!"

"No, you don't! If you did you'd tell me not to let go and try to help me get his attention, or something..." Molly sighed with a shrug and a sniff, biting back more tears.

Alex ran her hands through her, now far too long, blond hair and repositioned her glasses which had slipped down her nose from all the ranting. This was their first row as best friends and it wasn't a welcome experience. Alex then did something she hardly ever did. She thought long and hard before answering and gave careful consideration to what she was going to say, whilst ensuring that honesty was the main factor in her forthcoming flow of words.

"Molls, I love you to bits and pieces. I wouldn't be a good friend if I wasn't honest with you, would I? I'm not going to lie to you and I'm not going to help you get his attention. You wanna know why?" Molly shook her head. "Irene didn't catch his eye with her looks. Yeah, she was quite stunning in the flesh but she had an equally dark and somewhat cold mind, just like Sherlock does. I'll tell you now; this is why there was an attraction. I read about different degrees of sexuality a few years ago for research into a story and I think that he was simply drawn to her intelligence. You are bright, Molly. Brighter than I think he gives you credit for but she was a match for him in so many other ways. His mirror image as I've said before. Molly, you are so much better than that. You have a kind heart, you're very pretty but that's not what he would look for if he wanted a relationship. You looked gorgeous, stunning, and _beautiful,_ in that dress at the party yesterday. I saw you looking at Sherlock and that you were disappointed he didn't notice you. But, did you see John and Lestrade's reactions? Sherlock doesn't even notice, let alone appreciate, feminine beauty. It would be wrong of me to give you false hope. It's not going to happen. Let go." This long speech seemed to have the effect Alex had intended. If Molly had asked Alex to leave after this or told her to shut up, she would have. Not because she wanted to, but because she respected her friends feelings.

The shaking and crying woman standing in the middle of her living room took several breaths and stared about the place before speaking again.

"I know, I'm sorry. It's just that I can't stand it anymore." Her voice cracked on the last word.

"Hey, shh, it's alright. You've got nothing to be sorry for. I'm sorry, I was insensitive." Alex went to Molly to hug her.

The rest of the afternoon consisted of tea, chocolate hobnobs and preparations for making snow structures. It wasn't until four o'clock that they arrived at Hyde Park, by which point it was getting a little too dark to do what they planned to do. Instead, they found a rather large snowman that had been made earlier and abandoned. After checking for any onlookers, they placed the carrot at its groin at a rather obscene angle. Alex and Molly almost wet themselves with laughter and it was even funnier when Alex attached two snowballs to another snowman's chest and applied two cherries from an artificial branch of holly onto each snowball. They scarpered sharpish before anyone saw them.

Peering round the trunk of a willow they had hid behind, they saw a large patch of Hyde Park's green had been left untouched after a foot of snow had fallen. The girls decided to make their escape from the park across it, marking the fresh sheet of snow with their feet.

Once Alex and Molly reached Park Lane, their minds cast back to the events of that morning. Alex texted John to ask how things at home were going.

_Ok thanks. On my second mulled wine. Mrs Hudson is asleep downstairs with your cat. I think she has had one too many Sherries. _

John had deliberately omitted the one person they were all concerned about.

_How's Sherlock? X_

_Not good. Not eaten. Not spoken. Made a remark about a question on Millionaire but that is it. He is curled up on his chair. _

Alex read the message out to Molly, who breathed out slowly in comprehension of the situation. It was typical for Sherlock to have 'off' days; times where he would not speak, eat or even move. However, his current predicament had been influenced by a particular event. The once pink and laughing face of Molly reverted to its doleful frown.

"Do you… do you think that he… loved her?" Molly stuttered, looking away. The cold in the air had given her roses in her cheeks. The thought that occurred to her now had accentuated her colour. Her eyes looked like they were made of glass. Alex really couldn't answer Molly with a simple yes or no.

"I don't know, darling. I think he is capable of loving a human being but whether he loved a woman he only knew for less than fifteen minutes over three months ago is only something he can tell you. But he won't. He won't even open up to John."

"He must have felt something for her." Molly declared. She was still staring into the distance. Alex wondered if this was subtext for 'what did she have that I don't have?'

"Yeah. But maybe it was… I don't know, an admiration or an infatuation?"

Molly thought for several minutes as she watched some children race down Park Lane to go into Hyde Park. A black cab passed them, sloshing the grit-melted snow around. Lampposts were on emitting warm golden light. London, for once, seemed peaceful rather than its typical state of manic. It was a strange silence. They had been elated as they frolicked about in the park but now Molly was sad. After a minute, they began to walk in the direction of Trafalgar Square.

"… I hope he's ok." Molly said quietly when they were about halfway there. Alex nodded but didn't answer. Her best friend was really cut up about Sherlock's feelings for another woman, a perfectly natural emotion. But this was a U-turn. Molly was concerned about Sherlock's wellbeing, regardless of the fact that he appeared to love a human being that wasn't her. It was genuine, selfless love.

Their moods got a huge lift when they walked into the square. There were over fifty people singing _All I Want For Christmas Is You_, banging tambourines and ringing bells in time to the beat. The several hundred people in the square were clapping and singing along. Several stalls had been set up with the gorgeous smells of mince pies, mulled wine, Christmas pudding and soup emanating from them.

They pulled off their gloves to hold warm paper cups of soup and two heavily sugared mince pies when the choir changed to _Rocking Around The Christmas Tree_.

There were kids around skidding on the ice, couples kissing under mistletoes and a Father Christmas handing out presents to the children.

Two mince pies later (Molly had two cups of mulled wine) and a bag of roasted chestnuts, the choir altered its genre of songs to slower, more religious ones.

Molly was almost in tears at the emotion and excitement of it all. Her friend wandered off in the direction of the toilets, rubbing her hands together. A breeze had picked up and she felt the cold more once she had broken free from the insulating walls of people.

After relieving herself, Alex walked to the sinks in the middle of the room and turned on the hot tap. She had to let it run for a while before it allowed her to receive some warmth on her chilled fingers. It was wonderfully comforting and Alex made a long 'ooh' sound when she felt the benefit of the heat. There were three other people in the room. It wasn't very well lit at all. Mostly chrome and wood: very dull.

Almost unconsciously, Alex scanned the faces of the women. She couldn't help doing that. She always looked to see if she recognised anyone.

The water was scorching hot by now; too hot to let it fall over her hands. She shut it off and went to dry her hands with the rotating towel in the corner of the room, however, she stopped as soon as she got there.

The door to one of the cubicles opened and a mysterious person exited it to enter the centre of the lavatory. She wore a high necked fur coat, thick black jeans and long black boots with thick treads. Her dark brown hair had been swept behind her head. The face was pale and its owner turned sharply in the hope that the elaborate fur on the neck of the coat would disguise her. Yet it didn't work. Alex saw who it was. Her mouth gaped open and when the woman hurried out of the room into Trafalgar Square, there was only one thing to do.

"Hey! Come back here!" Alex cried. She ran outside and almost fell as soon as her feet hit the ice, but she had been sensible enough to place covers on the bases of her walking boots with metal bits to prevent collisions with the ground. The woman was also running.

Alex followed her around the corner past Charing Cross station. They both sprinted down Northumberland Avenue. Alex continued to shout, the woman continued her attempt to outrun her. The woman was fast, however, Alex was rather fit having been a gym junkie for seven months and had no problem catching up. Just as they reached Embankment station, the woman stopped and turned around, her face red but partially covered in heavy duty make up. They both stared at one another, panting for breath.

"What the fuck?! You… you're dead!" Alex gasped.

"In a manner of speaking." Irene quipped.

The text from John, Sherlock's no-show at breakfast that morning and the concern that this brought on everyone who cared for the detective caused Alex's emotions to overpower her. She lunged forward at the woman, grabbed her coat and held her up against the nearest wall. Alex was grateful that there were no other people around to question her actions or call the police.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?!"

"Absolutely. Do you want to know how?" Irene was not fazed by the sudden assault on her.

"Nobody likes a smartarse, sweetheart. I know you've faked your death and I couldn't give a shit how you did it. What I want to know is why and whether you know what you've caused!"

For the first time in their two meetings, Alex saw Irene looking anxious, if only a small portion.

"I needed to. I would have been killed otherwise."

As much as Alex disliked this woman, she knew that Irene's words came from the most honest part of her being. If she had died by other means, Sherlock would have been just as devastated. By faking her death, she would live more freely with whoever was after her ceasing their search and vendettas against her. Alex guessed that Irene Adler had many enemies. Alex breathed deeply and released her prisoner. Irene didn't move. They both calmed down enough so that they could breathe normally. The eye contact didn't break, not for a second.

"He's not eaten all day. He's hardly spoken. It's Christmas day of all days! I know that Sherlock Holmes doesn't care for trivialities, but yesterday, he was at least talking and eating. I can't help but feel that your 'death' has something to do with his state of mind right now. Tell him you're alive."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"It's complicated."

"Is it ever not? I'll tell him, then." Alex turned to leave and return to Molly.

"It's not a good idea!" Irene called out to her.

"Why is it not?"

"You've met Moriarty, haven't you, Miss Price?" This was the other side of Irene. The Woman, the Dominatrix, the one whom she met at the large house that day when Sherlock, John and Alex had been commissioned to retrieve the photographs.

Alex stopped, her breath hitching in her throat.

"You don't want to meet Moriarty again, do you? I can't tell Sherlock. It's in his best interests that he doesn't know and it's in yours too."

A black Jaguar, similar to one Mycroft would use to kidnap Sherlock's friends, pulled up and Irene disappeared inside quicker than Alex could move to grab. It sped away, skidding a little as it went under the Embankment Bridge.

"Alex!" Molly was jogging down Northumberland Avenue towards her friend.

The only thing on Alex's mind was Irene's passive threat. Moriarty was an evil being who knew no bounds and out of worry for Sherlock's and her own safety, she would keep her mouth shut. Alex walked inattentively back to Trafalgar Square with Molly, not hearing a word from her friend or a note sung by the choir. She just hoped beyond hope that Sherlock would see sense and move on naturally from the loss of the first woman he ever loved and not fade away.

Thanks for reading, peeps. More to come soon.


	35. I Need Your Help

At six o clock in the evening of the twenty-seventh of December, Alex met up with Molly at the gay bar that Alex hung out at often. She introduced her best friend to the gang of eight people she had become well acquainted with, whom Molly clicked with straight away. Alex wasn't surprised. Who couldn't love Molly?

After a five hour pub crawl, they headed to G-A-Y. The club was packed full of people still celebrating the Christmas holiday. It was now one o clock in the morning, the first hour of Alex's twenty-fourth birthday. Her friends were rather drunk at that point, but teetotal Alex was relishing in the fact that she could tell them when they next met up about how silly they looked.

A particularly embarrassing moment occurred when the DJ announced her birthday shortly after one o'clock when two of her male friends decided to prop her up on their shoulders. Alex had to throw a tantrum to be let down. Still, it had some advantages; it got her noticed and she had pulled three times in the space of an hour, adding three new contacts to her phone.

Her attempts to encourage John to join the party were ineffectual. His steadfast loyalty to his heartbroken, and utterly ungrateful, flatmate superseded any other priority. She accepted his reason. Only Alex would understand it.

John had bought Alex one of the 'Sims 3' expansion packs she had her eye on for her birthday. Sherlock, of course, hadn't noticed and didn't care. That was ok, though. Alex understood that this was what a friend of Sherlock's would have to sign up for – either he didn't care or he forgot about birthdays altogether. Sherlock didn't even celebrate his own birthday, which was in a matter of days. Alex was secretly happy that she shared the same star sign as the detective. It wouldn't make any difference to him, though.

It had been a difficult time between Christmas Day and the twenty-seventh. Alex was itching to tell Sherlock that Irene Adler was alive and well. She really wanted him to come out of his melancholy 'trance' and be his old self again, although his habits of skipping meals, playing the violin at strange hours and being quiet were hardly abnormal. He had just seemed to have sunk lower into his little pit that he often lived in. It was getting rather worrying.

By ten o'clock the following morning, Alex was freshly made-up and dressed. It had been a brilliant night and the advantage of being sober was that she could remember all of it and had no hangover. Mrs Hudson had knocked on her door with a large parcel and sang '_happy birthday_' in her squeaky voice.

Mrs Hudson had bought her a Turner painting that Alex immediately hung in her living room and Alex's agent had sent her a large cake in the shape of a book. The top of the cake sported the title of her second novel, complete with her name on a dark blue background, and showed a picture of a house with the door wide open. It was the picture that they had created to grace the front of her new book and the parcel her publisher had sent with it was the first edition of her new novel!

Alex was elated and called as many people as she could to tell them. Her editor had given the go-ahead for the book to be published as it was, and tucked in the pages was the schedule for the upcoming book tour. It would be an entire month, just like it was before. The launch was in a month's time and Alex could invite as many guests as she liked.

She called John, who was keeping a constant vigil of his best friend, to invite him out for lunch. He wasn't certain so at midday of the twenty-fourth anniversary of her birth, Alex walked into 221b of her own accord with plates of birthday cake for the detective and the doctor.

Sherlock flicked his eyes to her as she sat opposite him. He noticed her but didn't really _notice_ her. He appeared to be watching Top Gear, however, it was highly unlikely that he was paying any attention to it at all, given that he hated the programme and wasn't reacting to any humour on-screen. John was seated at his desk behind Sherlock – was he emailing someone?

He gave a sad look to Alex as if to telepathically inform her that she shouldn't have wasted the journey. Or the cake. Alex longed for nothing more than for Sherlock to have his cake and eat it. Literally. It would be his birthday gift to her. John went to make a cup of tea before tucking into his own portion.

"I'll leave it here. It's nice. Victoria sponge with cream and strawberry jam. The icing is plain, the picture is only rice paper."

She could only plead with him; she couldn't make him eat it. It was alarming to her and John at how pale he looked. His bright eyes that sparked up when a case would arise were now dull and expressionless. His focus alternated occasionally between the telly and Alex. from the look on John's face, Alex could see how much he wanted to place a comforting arm around Sherlock's shoulders and tell him that it was all right and that life would get better soon. However, the consulting detective seldom took part in physical contact, let alone affection.

A couple of agonisingly quiet minutes later, the detective cottoned on to the fact that there was a cup of tea beside him. Without a word of thanks to its maker, he sipped it once, then held it steady in his pale, thin and skinny fingers as if he had come in from having a snowball fight and needed to heat up his hands. Alex guessed he was feeling rather cold from the malnourishment. It was winter, after all, but he was hunched up, dressed in a suit complete with a jacket, with his red dressing gown around him. The heating was on so John was just wearing a shirt and a cardigan. If Sherlock was feeling the cold more than usual it wasn't a good sign. The snow had been cleared by a bout of rain and it had been mild enough for the water to evaporate and not turn into ice.

Having been heartbroken before, and not wishing it on her worst enemies – except maybe Donovan and Moriarty – Alex pressed her lips together in consideration of the fact that a friend was in pain and looked at the ground despondently. She wasn't his _best_ friend, but she had to try her best to assist him or John; in any way she could.

"You don't have to eat it if you don't want to…" Alex told Sherlock softly. She rose from her chair, feeling exasperatingly incapable and useless. John must have felt a lot worse.

The use of using phrases like '_it'll do you some good_' and '_I would feel better if you eat it_' wouldn't have been welcome. It was Sherlock's call. Nobody could force him to do anything. Alex didn't dare mention _that_ woman. If she did, he would be able to read in her face that something had happened.

A part of her felt grateful that she had managed to keep her experience of Christmas Day with Irene Adler from him. However, his obvious emotional turmoil was not a reason to be happy with her accomplishment. He noticed everything. Well, almost everything.

Alex stood helplessly in front of him, not knowing what to do. She looked at John, who also remained silent. It was like a game of real-life charades; hardly a word had been spoken. It was her birthday and she should have been celebrating, but there was a friend in need to think about first.

John took himself off to the bathroom, leaving Alex alone with Sherlock. She couldn't contain it anymore; she had to say something.

Kneeling beside him, not caring if she had invaded his personal space or not, she touched his arm and didn't even think of pulling back when he flinched. She spoke to him with a quiet and gentle tone.

"I'm sorry you're sad. It will get better, I promise. Remember, we all love you and we don't like to see you hurt yourself like this. I know you don't care about anything else right now, but please, eat something at least."

Sherlock just squirmed uncomfortably, not looking her in the eye. The usual habit of his eyes trailing over everything to deduce whatever he could was nowhere to be seen. He only stared at the telly. Maybe her words had been heard or heeded in the way she intended but all she could do was be there for him. On the other hand, John was his best friend and would always act as his guardian angel.

Unanticipated, and totally out of the blue, Sherlock leapt out of his chair as if he was sitting on a coiled spring and made his way to his skull on the mantelpiece. He lifted it, revealing a large phone behind it. An expensive-looking black phone with gold and leather parts. It must have cost an absolute fortune!

He flipped it in the air and caught it expertly. The precision of the propulsion of the instrument in the air must have been due to the detective's uncanny affinity for deductive reasoning. It landed with the screen facing the right way so softly in his hand that anyone would have thought that Sherlock Holmes was telekinetic. Given that it was something that a rich socialite would use, it seemed odd that Sherlock would have such a stylish looking phone in his possession. He had an iPhone 4, which was sitting on the coffee table next to the detective's chair.

Standing in the middle of the rug in front of the fireplace, facing Alex, he thumbed over the screen of the phone and its buttons. His tongue swished around his mouth, pushing against his lips. Most people when they were thinking hard would contort their mouths and tongues unconsciously. Something about this phone was challenging him.

"New phone?" Alex asked. Maybe conversation could make him open up. She felt a bit stupid asking him that particular question because it was clearly not his new phone.

"It's the woman's…" He replied. At least that was something, if only his words were muttered in such a monotonous manner. Truth be told, Alex was expecting him to give her a silly answer for asking a silly question.

"The photographs are on here, plus much more."

"So, the case is solved? You have the photographs? Why don't you hand it to Mycroft?"

For the first time in days, Sherlock looked Alex in the eye. He turned on the phone and held the screen up to her.

**I AM**

**LOCKED**

The four spaces were obviously Irene's code to unlock the phone, only Sherlock didn't know the code. If he did, he would have unlocked it already. This must have been the item he took with him to the bedroom after humiliating Molly. Alex guessed that the phone would completely shut down or lock itself entirely after a certain of guesses.

"Can you deduce the code?" Alex asked. She wasn't sure if Sherlock could. Irene had completely stumped him when she appeared naked in his presence.

"That's what I have been thinking about and trying to do."

Aha! Alex thought. Was his 'shutdown' period more to do with deep thought processes, rather than the 'death' of Irene Adler? Was it an amalgamation of this and the pain of the loss?

"Can it not be accessed? Mycroft should know somebody who could hack it."

"No. She was too clever for that. Far too clever."

He continued to glare at the phone as if it was a person whose mind he was trying to read. Tapping its screen speculatively, he placed it in his dressing gown pocket and went over to his violin. John emerged from the bathroom and smiled as he saw his friend actually partaking in an activity that didn't involve sitting in a virtually zombified state.

He seemed to be experiments with many different notes, combinations and melodies. The sounds were irregular and unintelligible, without any kind of pattern or a clear journey where the song was going.

Alex left the flat, leaving the untouched portion of cake on the table. Although a fraction tired from the night before, she was determined not to waste her birthday and instead have a good day. A night out was the perfect distraction and Sherlock would be safe in Doctor John Watson's care.

She spent the rest of the day with Mitzie, playing tag and chasing a long piece of string. Catching up on the lost few hours of sleep was on the agenda so that Alex could muster the energy she would require for an all-nighter.

After only two hours at her favourite gay hang out, Alex and her friends headed to the same club they went to the night before.

She danced in the middle of the floor, away from tables and chairs, bars, walls and speakers, surrounded by over a hundred people. The lights flickered so much it was like watching a silent movie. People's positions changed each time the green and blue lights flashed. As people moved about, in and out of her field of vision, Alex could swear that she saw a familiar face some metres away. She stopped dead. Several dancing punters bashed into her. She gasped as a ring scraped her arm. This distracted her long enough for the owner of the face to get away.

Alex scanned the crowd but could not find the person, so she moved in the general direction of where it came from. There was no need to call the person's name. It was far too loud. Too loud, in fact, for her to hear her phone receive a text message, but she felt it vibrate in her jean pocket.

The group of friends Alex came to the club with were hanging by one of the nearby bars and Alex approached them so she could read the message. Before reading it, she took one last scan over the dance floor, which was now two steps below her so she could see it clearly. The face had gone. She half-heartedly read the message, expecting another '_happy birthday_' message or a flirty text from one of the ladies she met the previous night. It was none of those types of text from any of those people.

_Are you keeping our little secret…secret? xxx_

Alex didn't need to even guess who it was. More than anything, she wanted to call Irene and tell her exactly what she thought of the scheming woman.

Looking around for her was becoming a fruitless and exhaustive task. Had she exited the building? Summoning any courage she could, Alex texted her reply:

_Leave me alone._

The phone was deposited back into Alex's jean pocket before she made her way to the bar to catch up with her friends. It was merely seconds before the phone vibrated again.

_Your taxi is here._

_I did not order a taxi. _

What the hell was she on about? Alex tried ignoring her phone the next couple of times it vibrated but was becoming more and more annoyed at this insolent person interrupting her night out.

"For God's sake…" She murmured to herself, pulling the device out of her pocket. Then, a loud voice in her ear and a harsh hand grabbing her elbow caused her to whip around suddenly, almost causing her to drop phone. It was one of the club bouncers.

"Excuse me, Miss, please come with me." The bouncer ordered, pulling her away.

Alex's friends were calling for her and pleading with the bouncer. She tried to extract herself and protest in the strongest possible terms but there was no point. He had almost restrained her by the time she was out of the club and set down on the pavement.

"What the fuck is going on?!" Alex cried. The bouncer took her round the side of the building. Even after the few short seconds of being outside, the biting chill was raising goosebumps on her arms and causing her teeth to chatter. The bouncer remained calm and pointed to the flower bed which was at the back of the club. The sort of area people would go to take drugs or relieve themselves in public. It was so dark she couldn't even make out how deep the crevice of the overgrown place was.

"What, what are you…? Why did you kick me out, what have I done?"

"Just look over there!" He yelled. "Give me your cloakroom ticket and I will get your things for you."

"No, I'm going back in to see my friends, I haven't done any…"

"Stay here! Ticket, please?"

It was several seconds before Alex backed down and placed the ticket in his outstretched hand. Why was she being told to stay there? That horrible, groggy, dark corner of the building was disgusting. This was the last place she wanted to be.

The bouncer strode back to the club. Alex found that her feet had stubbornly planted themselves to the spot. It wasn't difficult to work out that either Irene or Moriarty had something to do with this situation.

"Hello, Alex." A feminine voice chimed as its owner emerged from the shadows. She was wearing the same fur coat with a massive hood as before and the rest of her clothes were black. It covered only her hair, leaving her make-up covered face all that could be seen from the darkness. Still, her features were not undistinguishable.

"What the hell do you want with me? I told you to leave me alone!"

"Yes, I know. I need to talk to you, please don't raise your voice."

"Why not?" Alex said in a louder volume than before.

"I can't draw attention to myself."

"Really? You showed yourself in Trafalgar Square and tonight, right here in this night club! _Can't draw attention to yourself_, don't make me laugh!"

It was at this point that Alex felt her coat and bag being dumped on the ground behind her. She scrambled into the coat to warm up her shaking body and tucked her fists into the cuffs.

"I've been able to keep in the shadows. But my little outings have caused… problems."

"I really couldn't give a shit about your so-called problems, Irene. They're your problems, not mine."

"I know and I don't wish you to be drawn into them."

"That's the most sensible thing you've ever said! I'm going now. Goodbye." Alex turned to walk away.

"No! Don't go, please, I need your help."

"With what?"

"I need you to help me get my camera phone back from Sherlock without him knowing."

Alex stood still for a few seconds to let her request sink in.

"Why?" She asked eventually.

"There were people coming after me before I… faked my death. They're starting to suspect that I'm not dead and I'm not safe anymore. At least not in daylight. My camera phone is a lifeline to me, my protection."

"Then why did you give it up?"

"It was a mistake. I thought I wouldn't need it anymore. A new life, everything. But it's not as clear cut as I thought." Irene had come closer to Alex at this point. She could see a pleading look in the former dominatrix's face. Was this the vulnerable side of Irene Adler?

"I guess you're not as smart as I thought, Miss Adler."

Irene didn't dignify the comment with a response. She folded her arms and her face became very grave.

"The people who are after will come after him if he holds onto it."

This was time for Alex to pause. People who would come after Sherlock? Maybe she could warn him without revealing Irene's existence? No, he was far too clever. He would press her for more information. But what did she owe Irene? Nothing. The memory of Moriarty came back to her. The fear was surfacing again. Alex knew where her loyalties laid.

"No, I won't help you. I won't tell him either. I'll leave that to you. Goodbye."

She hurried off to the nearest cab. Thankfully, her friends weren't waiting. Alex didn't feel like explaining herself. It was one thirty-two and she couldn't get back into the club now. After texting her friends that she was not coming back, she got into the nearest cab and went back to Baker Street.

**Not sure if anyone has noticed but there are discrepancies between the dates of events in series 2 and John's blog. I will show them below and how I aim to tackle them:**

**Sherlock acquires Irene's phone at Christmas. Irene says that Sherlock had it six months and when Irene 'turns up' at 221b he says that he took a safety deposit box a couple of months before.**

**John's blog states that it was New Year's Day that Sherlock got him to check the flight details – the day after Irene revealed herself to be alive, so where have the months gone?**

**It is not known how long it was between 'sorry about dinner' and the 'beheading' but it was more than two months as this is discussed between John and Mycroft and John and Sherlock. According to John's blog it happened by 12****th**** March. If you go by the info on the blog, about Irene turning up on New Year's Day and it is more than two months later that she is 'beheaded', it is plausible. But not when you take the fact that six months presumably passed between Christmas and when Irene arrived at 221b.**

**It is unknown when Hounds occurred - it could have been at any point, however, in John's blog it happened very shortly after the ordeal with Irene. This was when Mycroft let Moriarty go as he 'arranged' to meet Moriarty when Sherlock deduced the passcode. Mycroft interrogated him for weeks – which would explain it. Hounds may have happened within that two month interim or shortly after.**

**Three months took place in Reichenbach. Six weeks between the date that Moriarty broke into the Tower of London and it was two months later that the 'fall' occurred. Again, Hounds could have happened in either of these time periods. It was end of term for the kids the day before Sherlock goes to the school. John wrote the final blog on 16****th**** June. This is not end of term for schools in the UK so it doesn't appear plausible that Sherlock 'died' around this time.**

**I will be using the dates on the blog to tackle the time periods, but I will elongate the period in which Reichenbach occurred, taking it up to the end of July, which is when school term ends for the summer.**


	36. A Break In At Baker Street

**A big hello and thank you to my beta, Holly. You are the nuts. X**

The beautiful sound of violin music curled its way through the air of 221b on New Year's Eve. It was a slow and melancholy song that Sherlock had played repeatedly and it had become longer and fuller each time, changing a couple of times. Was the amazingly talented detective composing or learning a new piece?

Alex had practically become a hermit for the last two days and had only left her flat to get the post and to make occasional visits to the shops. Less could be said for John, whom Alex was sure was going mad with boredom. Usually it would be the other way around with Sherlock being the one who went stir-crazy.

New Year's Eve morning was spent sitting in the dark green lobby of the house with Mitzie curled up on Alex's lap. She read _Queen of the Damned_ whilst letting Sherlock's music send her into the zone of the literature she was absorbing. The music was slow and sad; a reflection of Sherlock's emotional state, like he was trying to channel and comprehend it.

Not once had Alex and John seen Sherlock show visible signs of grief, but at the same time, there had not been an event that caused the detective to express any negative emotions; even the murder of the old woman in the flat in Glasgow. John had confirmed to the world on his blog that Sherlock simply didn't care about a stranger's death. However, when it was someone he loved, his face became blank and he appeared to withdraw himself from the rest of the world.

Alex knew deep down that Sherlock Holmes wasn't emotionally shallow like a psychopath or sociopath would be. He felt emotions like anyone else but had built up a barrier so that feelings would not affect him. When he became susceptible to an extreme emotion, he would not understand it or know how to cope with it.

Was it is high intelligence, combined with possible Asperger's, that had caused him to be so antisocial? Alex found her mind wandering in and out of the opposing, yet strikingly similar, worlds of vampires and Sherlock Holmes while slouched in the chair.

When the clock on the mantelpiece chimed at twelve, Mitzie took this as a cue to get up and stretch, which brought Alex out of her trance. The kitten, who was getting quite rather big, leapt to the floor and went to sit pointedly outside Alex's front door. Alex let Mitzie go into the flat and, on the spur of the moment, decided to have lunch at Speedy's. She texted Molly to see if she wanted to meet up but Molly declined to join her. Toby was ill and she had to make an emergency vet appointment.

Just like every year, G-A-Y was hosting an extravagant New Year's bash and Alex had planned to go. She had been clubbing more times in that week than she had in the last three months and it was becoming a rather favourable way of clearing her mind. It also helped to let her hair down after completing the laborious task of writing her second novel. Plus, she had been cooped up for a couple of days and was itching to get out again.

"Fancy coming?" Alex asked John, who had also visited Speedy's for lunch and was already halfway through a bacon sandwich.

"Err…" He stared into space for a while, considering his answer. "You know what, I might. I'm sure Sherlock will be fine for one night. God knows I need a night out, but I'm not sure I'd fit in. I've never been to a gay club."

"Oh, don't be silly! Anyone can go; gay, straight, bi, trans…"

"Oh, ok. But if the guys from Blackheath call I might forfeit clubbing for a pint with my old rugby mates, so I'm not making any promises. Thanks for asking, anyway."

"Fine, fine."

The thought of John gyrating amused Alex. He would probably try chatting to as many ladies as possible. They went back into the house and John invited Alex upstairs. After a couple of hours, they were presented with sausage and mash by Mrs Hudson. Sherlock was still playing his violin and didn't touch his food.

"You composing?" John asked when Sherlock wrote a few notes on the music sheet in front of him.

"Helps me to think." He muttered nonchalantly.

John looked at both Mrs Hudson and Alex, who couldn't think of anything to say. Mrs Hudson held up Sherlock's plate and sighed. She wasn't going to tell the detective about how important it was to eat, even if it was just a little, but decided against it and dropped the untouched food into the kitchen bin.

Sherlock began the song again and he barely began when John asked a question that Alex was sure he was nervous to pose.

"What are you thinking about?"

As if John's words had stung him, Sherlock abruptly stopped playing. Setting his violin down quickly, he spun around to face John's laptop that was switched on and open on the table.

"The count on your blog is still stuck at one thousand, eight-hundred and ninety-five." He said, pointing at the screen. Alex peered around to have a look and, sure enough, the number of hits on John's blog hadn't increased for months.

"Yes. Faulty. Can't seem to fix it."

Sherlock picked up Irene's camera phone and held it in both hands whilst tapping the keys frantically with his thumbs. His voice seemed anxious as he spoke.

"Faulty, or you've been hacked and it's a message." An error emanated from the phone to show the person who had tried the code that it was wrong. Saying that Sherlock looked disappointed was an understatement. He lowered the phone and stared at the wall opposite him.

"Just faulty."

Sherlock resumed playing his violin, facing the window. It was as if he didn't want to see, hear or even know that there were people in the room who were concerned about him.

"Right. Right, I'm going out for a bit…" John said to his friend, who ignored him. John nodded in acknowledgement of Sherlock's obliviousness and proceeded to the kitchen where Alex was making tea and Mrs Hudson was clearing up.

"Listen," John said to Mrs Hudson, "has he ever had any kind of… girlfriend, boyfriend a relationship, ever?"

"I don't know." Mrs Hudson replied.

"How can we not know?"

"He's Sherlock! How will we ever know what goes on in that funny old head?"

Alex already knew that Sherlock had never felt infatuation or anything akin to love before. Her chats with Sherlock over the months gave her all the information she needed to deduce the detective's love life. She concluded that this was another reason he felt so strongly about Irene Adler. The woman was his first love.

All three of the people in the kitchen watched the detective as he moved the box over the strings slowly and swayed slightly. John flipped his eyes and smiled before leaving the flat.

Alex set Sherlock's tea down on the table and softly let him know that it was there. She didn't expect him to respond but just as he did with John when he asked Sherlock what he was thinking about, it was as if her words had hit a nerve and caused an inexplicable physical reaction in him.

He whipped off his blue dressing gown to reveal a white shirt and black trousers. His arm collided with Alex's shoulder as he barged past her toward the entrance to the flat. After putting on his jacket, he rushed out the door and slammed the front door behind him, leaving Mrs Hudson and Alex dismayed at the sudden departure and the display of impulsive energy after days of lethargy.

"Ok…" Alex muttered slowly. She picked up Sherlock's tea and tipped it into the sink before picking up her own.

"Well, I'm going to give the lobby a good going over, Alex. What are you going to do?"

"Probably just chillax for the rest of the day until later. I'm sure the boys won't mind if I borrow the mug." Alex said before she descended the stairs whilst blowing cool air into the steaming mug of tea. Mrs Hudson took a little longer to get downstairs with her hip.

Scarcely had she been in her flat for five minutes when a huge crashing noise came from the lobby. Alex jumped up from her sofa, muted the telly and listened. Not a lot of listening was necessary as the next sound was an awful cry coming from Mrs Hudson.

Mitzie ran into the bedroom to hide and Alex ran up the stairs to her door.

"Mrs Hudson, what's wrong…" Alex stopped dead. The door of 221b was only slightly ajar but had obviously been forced open by the new occupants of the room who were three men in black suits, two of whom Alex recognised.

"Where is Sherlock Holmes, old woman?!" one of them shouted at the terrified landlady. This was the same man whom Sherlock had disarmed at Irene's house. Another of the men had seen Alex and had lunged forward to grab her by the wrist.

"What the hell is going on?" Alex cried as her joint was pulled and jerked by the man, who was forcing her into the main part of the lobby.

"I don't know…" Mrs Hudson responded. She was apprehended immediately and hoisted from the floor.

"Don't you dare touch her!" Alex demanded, but she was soon silenced by the feel of crushing arms around her ribs.

"Where is the camera phone? ANSWER ME!" the first man yelled, holding a gun to Mrs Hudson's head. Mrs Hudson tried to ask what he was talking about but the shock had rendered her voice mute.

Alex tried to speak, scream or anything, but now there was a leather gloved hand covering her mouth and she was shaking violently.

"Well, I suppose that the great detective has it hidden somewhere upstairs so let's go up, shall we?"

With that, both the women were dragged up the stairs. Mrs Hudson did whatever she could to thwart their efforts but her attempts were ineffectual. She scratched at the wall and Alex kicked the skirting several times. Mrs Hudson instinctively called Sherlock's name up the stairs, even though he was out. Alex tried moving too but her ribs were tightly wrapped.

Once they were in the living room, Mrs Hudson and Alex were made to sit in chairs in the middle of the room with guns pointed to their heads. Flashes of Alex's meeting with Moriarty ghosted through her mind and as she stared down the barrel of the gun, her vision blurred. She felt a sense of being airborne and, just as if her experience of succumbing to the Valium that Sherlock once furtively administered was repeating itself, she slipped away from reality.

"Wake up!" a male voice shouted. His hand tapped her face harshly. Everything was hazy and Alex had to blink about ten times before she could see properly again. The right side of her head really hurt. Her ear was worse – it had been crushed against her skull from the force of the fall.

"Get up!" the man yelled, pulling her up roughly by her arm. Alex was still recovering and had no strength to fight back. However, she was fully alert when she looked over at Mrs Hudson.

The woman was weeping into Sherlock's dressing gown. She was clutching it tightly and had bundled it up on her lap as she didn't want any of it to touch the floor. The thing that really caught Alex's attention was the gash across her landlady's cheek. The bastard with the ring on his hand had punched her!

"You fucking – " She didn't get to finish for the leather gloved had was once again clamped over her mouth. She tried to scream but was almost winded by the effort of trying to struggle free.

"Stop it, you pathetic old woman!" yelled the blonde American at Mrs Hudson, the one who had a gun aimed at her. He whipped away the blue silk dressing gown and crouched down to meet her gaze.

"I'll ask you again, where is it?" His voice was calm but menacing, like a warning. Mrs Hudson murmured something that sounded like 'I don't know' but it was hard to tell as she had replaced the dressing gown covering her face with her hands.

It was then that Alex remembered something. Sherlock had placed the camera phone into the pocket of his dressing after he found that 1895 was the wrong passcode. It was in the very item that Mrs Hudson had been holding! When the man with the gun had removed it from her grasp and thrown it to the floor, there had been no sound of a thump that the phone would have made. Where had it gone?

"Are you going to remain quiet? Or am I going to have to silence you for good?" the man who had hold of Alex asked her. Once again, a feeling of déjà vu swept over Alex. Her life had been in danger before and here she was again. Both of the women in the room were sincerely hoping that the boys would come home soon. Neither of them knew where they were and had been given no opportunity to call for help.

Nodding quickly, the hand released its grip from Alex's face. She was made to sit in the chair next to Mrs Hudson. Her cardigan was torn a the shoulder and her wrist was bruised. Alex swore to herself that these men would pay.

"Now, young lady, I would like you to help me with something. You must know that Sherlock has a particular item in his possession that we want. Do you know where it is?" Alex had to pluck up as much courage as she had in her body to deliver her next line, which was a lie.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She hoped the subtle shifts in her body wouldn't give it away that it was a false statement. She ducked as she saw a clenched fist approach her; in some way she had been expecting it.

Her face was saved and it had skimmed her shoulder, crashing into the back of the chair. Once the man knew that Alex had not received the punishment he meant to deliver, he grabbed her by the lapels of her polo shirt and pulled her to her feet.

The man's face was so close she could feel his hot breath on her face. Only the tips of her toes were touching the ground.

"Leave her alone!" Mrs Hudson cried. This earned her another smack, but across the back of the head.

"You do know what it is we're talking about and you _do_ know where it is don't you?"

Alex swallowed, looked him in the eye and kept her breathing even.

"I don't. I swear I don't." She almost choked on her words. The man opened his mouth to answer but was cut off by his colleague, who was standing at the window.

"He's coming."

"Sherlock..?" Alex whispered. She managed to lock eyes with Mrs Hudson, who tried to look as pleased as she felt.

"Sit down, don't move and keep facing forward or else Sherlock will be solving a double murder right here in his living room. Do you get me?" the man who was still holding Alex said through clenched teeth. Alex nodded and he released her. She sat down and stared at the door as the man walked behind her, the gun held at her head again.

It was a minute or two before they heard footsteps creeping up the stairs. The door opened and the tall figure of Sherlock Holmes walked calmly into the room. He first looked at the two ladies sitting in the middle of the room.

"Oh, Sherlock! Sherlock." Mrs Hudson cried in partial whisper. Alex too felt herself welling up at his presence.

"Don't snivel both of you. It'll do nothing to impede the flight of a bullet." he said in an impassive tone. Finally looking at the intruders, he continued. "What a tender world that would be!"

"Oh, please, sorry, Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson whimpered, shaking her hands in the air. The American behind Mrs Hudson was next to speak.

"I believe you have something that we want, Mr Holmes."

"Then why don't you ask for it?"

His attention was back on the ladies in front of him. He came to Alex first and examined her wrist and lapels before checking her face. He noticed the bruise forming on the side of her face and knew how she came by it.

Mrs Hudson offered her own wrist to Sherlock for his expert eyes to look over. He observed the bruise, the tear in her clothing and the cut on her cheek.

"Oh, we've been interrogating these two but they don't seem to know what we're talking about. Either that or they're lying. But you know what I'm asking for, don't you, Mr Holmes?"

His focus changed from Mrs Hudson's face to the speaker for only a second before he spoke again.

"I believe I do." There was a threat in his voice. His mind was calculating his next move with all the skill of a fox hunting its prey. The man who had assaulted Mrs Hudson's face had practically signed his own death warrant.

Sherlock then straightened up and took two steps back.

"What are you going to do?" Alex asked him under her breath. Maybe he didn't hear her or maybe he did, except he had something more important to do. Mrs Hudson continued to weep anxiously.

"First get rid of your boys." he instructed.

"Why?" the American asked.

"I dislike being outnumbered. It makes for too much stupid in the room."

The blonde American sighed and then relented to agreeing to Sherlock's request. He told the two men at his flanks to go to the car.

"Then get into the car and drive away. Don't try to trick me, you know who I am. It doesn't work!" Sherlock warned him. Alex was in awe at how focused the detective was in danger and how easily he could turn a situation around.

The men vacated the room before Sherlock gave his next instruction.

"Next, you can stop pointing that gun at me."

"So you can point a gun at me?"

Sherlock raised his arms outwards, his palms visible, his coat opening slightly.

"I'm unarmed."

"Mind if I check?"

"Oh, I insist!" Sherlock quipped.

Still with the gun in his hand and poised at the ready should he need it, the American walked over to Sherlock and began to search him. The detective rolled his eyes when the man moved behind him and then, out of nowhere, produced a small spray can. He turned sharply and sprayed its content in the man's eyes.

Just as a cry of pain pierced the air, Sherlock leaned back and with as much force as he could, he head-butted the man in the face. A large crack was heard, which was undoubtedly the breaking of the man's nose. He fell back, unconscious, into the sofa.

"Moron!" Sherlock uttered. He placed the can onto the table then went over to the injured women. Alex had gotten up from her chair and was crouched at her landlady's side, clutching her hand. Mrs Hudson smiled at Alex with more effort than she should have used considering the state her face was in.

The next moment was one that Alex knew she would cherish. It was a rare moment when Sherlock showed his caring side and even if he did, it was so subtle that one would have to read between the lines. But right now, it was a great comfort to know that he held his two friends' wellbeing in such high regard.

He rubbed both their arms gently to avoid causing their bruises to twinge.

"You're all right now, both of you, you're all right."

They reassured him that they were ok. However, Alex was sure that Mrs Hudson wasn't. She hoped that John would arrive home soon and check her over.

Sherlock turned around to observe the unconscious man lying awkwardly over the sofa. He walked over and told Alex and Mrs Hudson to take his place.

Although Sherlock was a tall and thin man, he was somehow extraordinarily strong. The man was dragged roughly into the centre of the room and thrown onto the chair.

"Alex, get me some duct tape and scissors." he called out to her.

She went into the kitchen to look for what had asked for. It took her nearly a minute and by this point, the man was coming round. Sherlock stood impatiently by his side and was alerted immediately to his regaining consciousness. Alex jumped as she heard a smacking noise and saw that Sherlock had hit him around the face with his gun, knocking him out again.

"Hurry up with that tape and scissors!" he called out. Alex was shaking still and found that the shock of the events of the day had clouded her mind and body. She breathed deeply, trying to apply the detective's methods of blocking external stimuli from the nerve endings, therefore ensuring that full focus could be applied those in moments of stress and anxiety.

Sherlock thanked her grudgingly (she took far too long to retrieve the items) as she handed him the tape and scissors to him. She took up her place beside their landlady as Sherlock tied the man to the chair and placed a large band of tape across his mouth.

**TBC…**


	37. Revenge and Redemption

**Continuation of the conclusion to ASIB. **

The man's nose was bleeding quite a lot now. It spilled over the tape and stained his cheek. Sherlock had got out his phone and, without looking at its screen, he found the number he was looking for.

At breakneck speed, John Watson slammed the front door and sprinted up the stairs.

"Jesus, what the hell is happening?"

He stood still in the doorway, alternating his look from Sherlock to the man in the chair and back to Sherlock again.

"Alex and Mrs Hudson have been attacked by an American. I'm restoring balance to the universe."

Alex was seated on the sofa and had her arm around her landlady. She was no longer crying but Mrs Hudson still had her head in her hands, weeping. As soon as the names of the women of the household were mentioned by the detective, John turned behind him to find them both on the sofa. The distress caused was evident.

"Alex? Mrs Hudson, my God. Are you both all right?" He sat down and draped his arm around Mrs Hudson's shoulders protectively and he patted Alex's right hand.

"Jesus, what have they done to you?" He glared at the man in the chair.

"Oh, I'm just being so silly!" Mrs Hudson wailed, shaking her head; her hands still covering her damp face. John hugged her close and took hold of Alex's hand, squeezing reassuringly.

"That bastard hit her across her face!" Alex exclaimed. She locked eyes with the man and silently told him that he would get what was coming to him. It was obvious that Sherlock would not let this lie either.

"Downstairs. Take them both downstairs and look after them." Sherlock told John.

"I'll have a look at that." John said to Mrs Hudson as she rose and left the room. Alex got up but stayed where she was.

John and Sherlock exchanged a few words, and Alex heard the detective telling his friend in no uncertain terms that he _must _leave. He glanced at Alex, with his phone still stuck to his ear, indicating that she do the same.

Once inside Mrs Hudson's flat, John dabbed his landlady's sore face with TCP, which made her wince with pain. She was brave, though and seemed to be feeling a lot better.

Within just a few seconds, all three of them heard a thud outside Mrs Hudson's window.

"Oh God!" Alex knew what had happened and so did Mrs Hudson.

"Oh – that was right on my bins!"

John peered outside and then all three burst into fits of laughter, Mrs Hudson wincing as her cheek stung. John checked Alex for concussion and found that besides a bruised cheek and ear, as well as a pulled wrist, she was fine.

It sounded as if the man was being helped out of the rubbish heap and taken away. Seconds later, another thud was heard. This went on for ten minutes.

By this point, Alex was rather concerned; not about the American but about Sherlock. If he killed this man, he would go down for it. Mycroft wouldn't even be able to get him off the hook.

She decided to take matters into her own hands and go up to 221b when she heard the next thump.

"Sherlock!" she called up the stairs. Sherlock was already hurrying down them. "Please stop!"

"Why?" he said, continuing his journey outside. Alex followed him.

"Because if he dies, you will get arrested. I think you've taught him a lesson well enough."

They were both stood outside next to the heap and the half-dead man. He hadn't landed on the road, but to the side of the house where Mrs Hudson kept her bins, so the injuries weren't as severe as they could have been.

Sherlock sighed and for the first time in the nine months that she had known him, he took notice of what she said.

"Ok. Let's just leave him until the ambulance arrives, which should be any time now. He's not going anywhere."

They left him and went to the door to greet the ambulance staff. It was dark now and Lestrade was also with them.

"Sherlock…"

"What?" the detective asked.

Lestrade didn't have to say anything. Look on his face was enough to show his friend that he had behaved badly.

"You all right?" Sherlock asked, leaning into her sideways as he watched the staff carry the unfortunate man into the van.

"Er, yeah. I'm good. Mrs Hudson seems to be ok."

"I know she is." he said softly.

"How do you know?" Alex asked, looking up at him. The flashing lights of the ambulance and police cars as well as the orange streetlights illuminated his white face clearly in the dark. He turned his head to look at her with the most charismatic smile. It was his usual 'how do you think I know?' look. She couldn't help but feel charmed and had to look away from him.

"And exactly how many times did he fall out the window?" Lestrade asked.

"Oh, it's a bit of a blur, Detective Inspector. I lost count." Lestrade got the picture and nodded.

"Goodnight, Alex." he said before departing.

"John is right, you know." Sherlock said after a few moments. They were still outside, breathing in the cold air of the evening.

"Sorry, what?" Alex asked.

"That being here isn't good for you. This is the third occasion you have been injured."

"Sherlock, I'm not leaving. By the way, how did you know he said that to me that night?"

"Because he mentioned it to me."

"Actually, it's the fourth. But I don't care, they've been relatively minor." She was getting cold now, which was aggravating the pain in her wrist. She placed her hands into her pockets and shivered slightly.

"Third. One of them was of your own making, remember?" Sherlock said as he turned to the door and opened it for her. Always the gentleman.

"Yes, yes, yes, I know. I should have never agreed to the fight, blah, blah, blah. You and John didn't let me forget it for days!"

"Quite rightly too!" Sherlock said as he walked past her to enter Mrs Hudson's flat. Again, he opened the door for Alex and they both went into their landlady's kitchen, where she and John were sitting.

Mrs Hudson held her head with her hand (it was probably hurting like hell) and looked like she was going to breakdown any moment.

"She'll have to sleep upstairs in our flat tonight. Alex you may have to also. We need to look after them." John said as they both entered.

Mrs Hudson protested and Sherlock offered his own assurance that Mrs Hudson was fine.

"No, she's not," John argued, "look at her. She's got to take some time away from Baker Street and I'll say it again, Alex, you need some time away, too. You can both go and stay with Mrs Hudson's sister. Doctor's orders."

"John, I'm fine." Alex reassured him. Sherlock had helped himself to a mince pie from Mrs Hudson's fridge as if he were her son who had just come home from school.

"Don't be absurd." Sherlock replied, biting into the pie with more relish than he ever had when eating something. He really needed the sugar. The new found knowledge that Irene Adler was alive and well had instantly revived him from his sorrowful state.

"They're both in shock, for God's sake and all over some bloody stupid camera phone. Where is it anyway?" John asked Sherlock.

Alex had to smile as the detective turned his head to his landlady and acknowledged that he knew where it was. The safest place he knew.

Mrs Hudson plunged her hand down her top and retrieved the phone from her bra. She miraculously transformed from being a woman in shock from a scary ordeal to being a strong matriarch.

"You left it in the pocket of your second-best dressing gown, you clot! Ha, I managed to sneak it out when they thought I was having a cry!"

"OMG!" Alex cried as she realised why a thudding noise didn't come from the gown earlier when it was thrown to the floor. That lady was clever. Cleverer than even Alex gave her credit for and she secretly felt ashamed for underestimating her. Sherlock expressed his gratitude with a simple 'thank you'.

"Shame on you, John Watson." he declared. He set the pie down on the table and, quite shockingly, put his arm around Alex, drawing her closer to him. He then stepped towards Mrs Hudson, taking Alex with him and put an arm around her. Alex automatically wrapped an arm around his back, although his figure was clothed heavily and she wasn't sure if she was hugging him or his coat.

"Mrs Hudson and Alex leave Baker Street? England would fall!"

They all smiled and felt extremely close as a surrogate family. John knew then that Mrs Hudson was, indeed, ok and Alex was too.

They all agreed that tea was in order. Sherlock was looking healthier already and it was clear that his usually tiny appetite was back. He devoured another mince pie and some digestive biscuits with his tea.

"So, gay clubbing is off the agenda." Alex declared, looking pointedly at John.

"Gay clubbing?" Sherlock asked as if she had quoted a saying he had never heard before.

"A gay club. I was going to go to G-A-Y for the New Year and John was going to come along, but I think that given the events of the day it's good we're not going."

"John agreed to go to a gay club?" Sherlock asked, looking at his best friend with curiosity.

"Sherlock, you don't have to be gay to go to a gay club, you know?"

"That's what I said." Alex added. John smiled at her.

"Not one of the guys from Blackheath called me. Typical."

"Don't worry, you have us to cheer you up!" Mrs Hudson said with a grin, rubbing his arm.

"Oh, God…" Sherlock uttered under his breath. Only Alex heard him and she lightly kicked his leg under the table. The look of annoyance on his face was priceless.

Sherlock and John left the flat shortly before midnight. Alex made one last check on the landlady before remembering that her cat had been on her own all this time.

She said goodbye and hurried to her flat with a guilty conscience. Before she opened the door, she could swear that a violin was playing Auld Lang Syne.

Mitzie screamed a volley of meows at her mummy as soon as she entered. A pouch of gourmet food was enough to placate the kitten into being on good terms with her again.

Sherlock was up and out of the house early on New Year's Day. John had decided to go and get some wine and nice food to make up for not celebrating the New Year.

Alex received an email from her publisher giving her the details of the book launch and what passage of her story she would be reading. Alex replied and reminded her publisher that she suffered from a bout of 'stage fright' at the first launch and had to get someone to read it for her.

_From: Peter Phillis_

_To: Alexandra Price_

_All the more reason for you to read it yourself this time! Practise reading it in front of friends and family. Or your pussy (cat) ;)_

_From: Alexandra Price_

_To: Peter Phillis_

_Fine, but if I cock it up, don't say I didn't warn you! Happy New Year, you bastard! Lol! X_

_From: Peter Phillis_

_To: Alexandra Price_

_You too, bitch. Only joking, x_

Alex was glad she got on so well with Peter – even though he could be as sly as a fox.

Sherlock and John returned from whatever they were both doing at midday. Somehow, John had found an open shop to buy some groceries. Of course, Sherlock didn't help at all with the bags. Alex was in the lobby trying to catch a spider in a glass (before it could squeeze under her flat door so Mitzie could eat it) when they both came in.

"Oh, I'll help you with that, John. Just let me get rid of this little critter." she said as she went to dump the chunky black arachnid outside.

"No, can I have it?" Sherlock asked, turning back from the stairs and walking towards her.

"No, don't be so cruel!" Alex replied as she saw the creature scuttle away.

"What makes you think I'd be cruel?" This question made Alex want to laugh.

"Why else would Sherlock Holmes want a spider? To love and care for? You'd probably torture the poor thing with some inhumane experiment."

"But you hate spiders…" he said, confusedly as she walked back in and put the glass down on the small table, making a mental note to clean it later.

"Yes, but I can't stand anything suffering; even creepy-crawlies."

John handed her two bags and they climbed the stairs after Sherlock. They placed the bags on the kitchen table while Sherlock went to his room.

John extracted a bottle of wine and went into Sherlock's room. Did Sherlock ever drink alcohol? Alex had never seen him do so.

"Hey, Sherlock!" John called out. Alex went to the kitchen to observe what could only be described as a very bloody transparent plastic bag full of kidneys. Why couldn't he put them in black bags? She didn't want to mix the food that John had bought with them but, thankfully, most of the stuff he had bought didn't require chilling or freezing.

Alex was sure she heard the word 'client' being uttered from Sherlock's room. She peered down the short corridor and saw both the men staring in the direction of Sherlock's bed.

"John moved forward so he was out of view from the door. Sherlock just continued to stare.

"Come on, wake up." John said soothingly. Who was asleep in Sherlock's bed?

Alex went tentatively into the room and a small gasp escaped her lips as she saw who it was. It was none other than The Woman herself. Her inch-thick make-up had gone and her hair was damp, curly and long. She was dressed in a green cardigan; she obviously had few possessions to her name. A big change from the thick fur coat, tight black leather trousers and boots she had been seen in days before.

Irene stirred and then woke. She knew fully well where she was, for she had planned to be here. However, she woke with a startled expression that Alex felt like laughing at. She saw John by her side and then looked to Sherlock and Alex. She smiled at them both.

"What are you doing here?" Alex asked.

"She's hiding out." Sherlock answered for Irene, who looked impressed.

She held the bedclothes around her as she sat up and looked at the three people around her.

"I'm sorry to have to do this but I had no choice."

"You gave up your 'protection', found out that going it alone didn't work for you and you've come here to get it back." Sherlock deduced.

"Yes, that's true. I also needed somewhere to sleep. I haven't had much of it lately."

"Clearly." Sherlock said flatly.

"Come on," John said to Irene, "You can take a shower if you like and then we can talk."

Irene then appeared to be anxious and pulled the duvet and blankets around her tightly.

"Err, I don't have…"

"She's not wearing much. Here." Sherlock said, throwing his second-best dressing gown at her.

"I'll make something to eat." John said, patting Irene's shoulder lightly.

Sherlock left the room abruptly, knocking Alex a little. She followed him and John too left Irene to do what she needed.

Irene arrived in the living room within fifteen minutes. Alex and John had already finished their jam sandwiches, chocolate chip muffins and tea. Sherlock was just nibbling his whilst typing at the speed of light on his Mac laptop. Once the lady in the blue gown emerged, his attention was focused only on her.

This observation made Alex wonder. If he were to walk into a room full of dead bodies and several mysteries, would he divert all his attention to Irene if she were there too and forsake the prospect of solving multiple crimes?

"Here, have these." John proffered, handing Irene a plate of sandwiches and a muffin a cup of tea in his other hand. She took them and settled in Sherlock's leather chair.

The boys were seated at the desk but Sherlock had moved the chair so he was able to be within a few feet of her. Alex watched her as she ate.

After sipping her tea a few times, Alex saw that Irene's wide eyes were on her. Her cheeks were plumped up ever so slightly, showing Alex that Irene was smiling behind the cup. Alex knew what that smile meant and Irene was aware that she would interpret it in the way it was intended.

Alex grimaced and took the plate away, wanting to tell _that_ woman to piss off back to wherever she had come from.

"So who's after you?" Sherlock asked her once they had all settled back down.

"People who want to kill me." Irene answered.

"Who's that?"

"Killers?"

"It would help if you were a tiny bit more specific." John added.

"So you faked your own death in order to get ahead of them." Sherlock stated.

"It worked for a while…"

"Except you let John know you were alive and therefore me."

"I knew you'd keep my secret." Irene said, looking back at Alex pointedly.

"Excuse me," Alex said loudly, "but what the hell is she talking about?"

John looked a tad uncomfortable and let out a few 'ums' before he spoke. Sherlock indicated that he wasn't willing to fill her in by turning to lock eyes with his friend.

"She revealed herself to be alive yesterday when I went out. Sherlock followed me and… that's now we found out."

"Ok…" Alex said. It didn't take the lady long to show herself. Sherlock turned back to Irene to continue their conversation.

"But you couldn't keep _your_ little secret, could you?" Sherlock deduced. He knew that a troublemaker like Irene wouldn't be able to play possum too long without venturing out again.

"You did, didn't you?" Irene said to Sherlock in a similar tone she would use if she had declared that he had saved her life. She snapped out of her gratefulness "Where's my camera phone?"

"It's not here. We're not stupid." John said, putting down his mug of tea.

"Then what have you done with it?"

"Flushed it down the loo." Alex said with a cheeky smile.

"Ha ha!" Irene replied with as much sarcasm. "If they've guessed you've got it they'll be watching you."

"If they've been watching me they'll know that I took a safety deposit box at a bank on the Strand a few months ago."

"I need it."

John remarked that they couldn't just go to get it. He came up with the idea that Molly, Sherlock's Homeless Network and the staff at Speedy's could help. Sherlock commended him on his excellent consideration of the matter but when John offered to put his proposal into practice, Sherlock revealed that the phone was, all this time, in his trouser pocket.

**My undying gratitude goes out to all readers and my beta, Holly. PRETTY PRETTY PRETTY PLEASE REVIEW! The more feedback the better a writer I will become. **


	38. Sherlocked

**Special thanks, as ever, goes to my beta, Holly.**

Sherlock observed the small item in his hands, as if preparing to snatch it from him, Irene stood up, keeping her eyes on the phone.

"So, what do you keep on here? In general, I mean." he asked.

"Pictures, information, anything I might find useful." Irene explained.

"For blackmail." John stated. It was an accusation, not a question.

"For protection." Irene corrected. "I make my way in the world. I misbehave. I like to know people will be on my side exactly when I need them to be."

"So you can con people into doing your bidding." Alex asked, mirroring John's accusatory tone.  
"If you like. It's more fun and rewarding than living a _conventional_ life." Irene replied snidely. Not since the showdown with Donovan had Alex ever wanted to slap another woman so hard. Sherlock acknowledged her words and continued.

"How do you acquire this information?" he asked.

"I told you," she answered him, "I misbehave."

"But you've acquired something that's more danger than protection. Do you know what it is?"

"Yes." Irene confirmed, as if he'd dare ask her. "But I don't understand it."

"I assumed. Show me."

Irene held her manicured hand out to him to request the item. He held it back from her.

"The passcode." he demanded. Irene didn't move. She just held her ground to silently let him know that she wasn't going to take orders. It was her phone, after all.

Sherlock reluctantly handed the phone over and sat back in his chair. Alex took a moment to observe his face. He flicked his eyes up and down Irene, which was his usual gesture when 'scanning' someone. However, the parting of his lips and the small, yet unavoidably obvious, sigh he made when checking her was an expression that no one would ever think that the detective would make. It was a look of lust. Of awe and admiration. A subtle pleasure someone would feel when their match had got the better of them. Sherlock actually seemed to _like_ it. He liked having his control taken away from him by someone who was his equal. No wonder this woman made such a good living as a dominatrix. If she could persuade Sherlock to do something just by looking at him, she could manipulate anyone.

Alex felt surges of respect and admiration replace her earlier feeling of animosity towards Irene. This was not to say that Alex was beginning to like her, it was just that she had attributes that Alex couldn't help but look up to.

The familiar error sound was heard after Irene input her passcode. She had got it wrong! Alex wondered if Sherlock had, in fact, deduced it and changed it already.

"It's not working…" Irene said, staring at the phone. Sherlock was quick to explain the reason.

"No, because it's a duplicate that I had made, into which you've just entered the numbers one-oh-five-eight!" He got up as soon as he started speaking and took the phone out of Irene's hands to reveal that the genuine article was behind the skull on the mantelpiece. "Thought you'd choose something more specific, but thanks anyway."

He stood confidently in front of her and applied the four numbers to the real phone. His arrogance was evident in his face, yet Irene didn't display any signs of defeat. She equalled his certainty.

However, Sherlock's conceited attitude was short-lived as the phone made the same sound, letting him know that 1058 was the wrong passcode. Irene looked pleased with herself.

"I told you that camera phone was my life. I know when it's in my hand."

She took the phone off him, not taking her eyes from his. They stood close together, engaged in a motionless, flirtatious dance.

"Oh you're rather good." He was definitely impressed, but was not smiling.

"You're not so bad." Irene returned.

John screwed his face up, not believing what he was seeing. Alex too felt quite nauseated. She would have loved for Sherlock to experience attraction, love or even intimacy, yet this was all too much. They were practically making love with their eyes, right there in the living room. An unwelcome image permeated Alex's mind – an image she fought tooth and nail to expel.

"Ugh! Get a room!" she blurted waiving her arms.

Both of them turned to stare at her, furrowing their eyebrows in confusion at her statement.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"You two, you're just… ugh, I'm going to my flat, see you later, guys!"

Alex made her exit with all three members of 221b staring at her. She nodded at John, who smirked a little. He, too, had deduced that there was a strong attraction between them. It was clear from the moment they met that they were made for one another. They both knew it. Would they act on it? Alex didn't want to think about that.

She spent most of the afternoon on Facebook, YouTube and Tumblr. With no more pictures to upload or blog posts to write, she texted John to find out what was happening upstairs.

_J: I've gone to see Mike. I warned Irene that he wouldn't notice and probably keep talking to me. _

_A: She's still here? What are you going to do with her?_

_J: Don't know. Any suggestions?_

_A: I would like to see Mycroft take care of her. Legally, I mean. They may need to force the passcode from her._

_J: Yeah. She refused to divulge it. I'm a little nervous about leaving them alone at the flat._

_A: Why?_

_J: Don't you think something will happen?_

_A: Oh God. I won't know how to feel if anything does happen._

_J: How do you mean?_

_A: I would love Sherlock to have some sort of romantic or intimate experience, seeing as he is so naïve about aspects of love and life beyond the academic. But with Irene? No way._

_J: Who would you rather it was with?_

_A: Molly. I'd love to see those two together for both their sakes. _

_J: I agree. Sherlock told me something the night of 'Pink'. He said he was 'married to his work'._

_A: Seems about right. Let's hope he doesn't commit adultery. At least not tonight. Not with her._

Alex heard a faint knock coming from upstairs. She had learned to recognise knocks on Mrs Hudson's door rather than her own, although the two were right next to one another. A man's voice was speaking to the landlady. The sound of footsteps in the lobby and then going up the stairs resonated through the ceiling of Alex's flat. Mrs Hudson called Sherlock's name but the sounds of her voice afterwards, and the man's, were unintelligible. Alex was not sure about whether to have a look or stay in her flat.

She turned around from the stairs to see her beautiful kitten staring up at her with adorable eyes. That was all it took for Alex to make her decision to remain in her flat with her friend. Not long after, the front door to the building closed. The man must have left; whoever he was.

She chastised her naturally curious and impulsive mind for telling her to go to investigate and instead let her moral values take precedent. She told herself that it was none of her business and to stay out of Sherlock and Irene's affairs.

A phone call from John Watson woke Alex the next morning. At eight o'clock, of all times.

"Hello, John, what can I do for you on this rather _early_ morning?" She tried to sound annoyed but she was too sleepy.

"Hi, Alex. Sorry to wake you. Can you come up in a minute?"

"Not right this minute, no. I need to brush my teeth, do my hair and…"

"Don't worry about that, you'll want to hear what Sherlock's got to say about the events of last night." John sounded rather excited.

"Oh no, I'd rather not hear the gory details! Just tell him congratulations from me." Alex made her voice sound as sarcastic as possible.

"No, no, no, no, it's nothing like that." John replied with a laugh as he understood her assumptions given their text conversation the night before. "Seriously, Alex, you'll want to hear it."

"Ok, give me… twenty minutes." She terminated the call before he could protest and flopped back onto the bed, half-heartedly cursing the day she met the Baker Street's Blogger Detectives.

Alex was pressed and dressed and in Sherlock and John's living room a little later than she had anticipated, although it had given John more time to make Alex some toast. She thanked him and sat in the red chair with the union jack cushion, opposite the detective and John. The latter was first to speak.

"After you left yesterday, Irene unlocked the phone, although she didn't tell us the code and locked it again straight afterwards."

"She showed me a fragment of an email she had photographed," the detective interrupted, "which turned out to be arrangements of passengers on a flight. It was for the seven four seven for half past six this morning from Heathrow, which I deduced by the number of rows, name of the flight, the predicament The Woman had got herself into and the fact that the information came from an MoD man. Mycroft found out and summoned me to meet with him on that very plane. The Woman also showed up and revealed her plan."

"Plan?" Alex asked.

"Yes. She had more than photographs on that phone. Much more. Information about terror cells, scandals, anything at all that could compromise the safety of this country and its population, just to preserve her own life. Mycroft suggested several ways to access the phone, such as extracting it from her by force, breaking the phone open or destroying it completely."

"Which option did he go with?" Alex asked. Sherlock made a noise that was midway between a scoff and a laugh.

"None."

"Why?"

"She's too clever." he said, interlocking his fingers and transferring his stare to the fireplace, which was fully lit and delivering a fair quantity of warmth to the room.

"I went to Bart's yesterday morning and x-rayed the phone. There were devices in the phone that had been designed to either burn or blow up the hard-drive. Using torture on her would also be pointless as she had two passcodes for the phone. One to burn the drive, the other to unlock the phone and there would only be one attempt available. She almost certainly wouldn't divulge the latter passcode under duress. Mycroft argued that there would be some data still present that could be recovered, but this was too much of a risk. His next suggestion was to destroy it. The Woman then told him that doing so could jeopardise the safety of the British people. She refused to say either way though."

"Ok, so what was the point of all this?" Alex said, shrugging her shoulders in confusion of the point of this story. Sherlock leaned forward in his chair before continuing.

"She handed him a list of her 'requests.'" Sherlock said slowly, as he was nearing the crucial moment of the tale. "She said that he needed to comply with her demands immediately and she then went on to explain how she attained the damning information on her phone. Can you guess how?"

This question threw Alex. She really didn't know how to answer and felt a little frustrated at his continued attempts to get her to fill in the information. After a few seconds, Alex's newly woken brain had enough already.

"I dunno, how?" she asked.

"No, no, no. You can work it out." he said, smiling mockingly.

"Sherlock," John interjected, "Don't try and show off, just tell her."

"No, she will be able to figure it out. Remember that the information she had on her phone was of 'national importance?'" Sherlock told her, clearly giving a clue.

This evoked memories of Alex's second case with Sherlock involving Zak Laurence and Rebecca Scanlan. She asked herself repeatedly how Irene could obtain such information. Did she find it out herself, steal it or make some observations and deductions as Sherlock did?

"She must have received them from a source of some kind, or sources?" Alex suggested.

"Mm hm…" Sherlock replied with a nod. "Can work out from which source?"

The answer came to Alex as if someone had sent her brain an email with the answer. It was effortless.

"Moriarty!" Alex exclaimed.

"The one and only. He had been in contact with Mycroft too. It was when she mentioned the words 'Jim Moriarty sends his love' that the whole thing clicked."

"Do tell, Mr Holmes…" Alex said cheekily before draining the last of her tea.

"That word. Love." Sherlock grimaced as he said this, as if that word had personally insulted him. "People throw that word around like they throw around money. It was her downfall."

There was a long pause from the detective before he spoke again. His chin rested on his hands and John had to poke him in the shoulder to prompt him. After regaining his concentration, Sherlock continued.

"It was that very thing that betrayed her secret."

"Which was?" Alex asked. She almost asked what the point of him talking about love was.

"Her passcode. The four digits needed to unlock the phone were S, H, E and R." Sherlock explained.

"The first four letters of your name. But I don't get it…" Alex said. She watched Sherlock as he pulled the very phone from his pocket.

"It's not the real phone, it's the duplicate. However, the screen is identical…" he said as he punched the letters S, H, E and R into it. He held the phone up to her and when he did, the whole thing made sense. It wasn't a passcode; it was a sentence. A declaration of how Irene felt about Sherlock Holmes. At last, Alex understood what Sherlock meant when he talked about love. She said the words out loud.

**I AM**

**SHER**

**LOCKED**

"Oh my God!" Alex cried out. "So you _deduced_ the passcode right at the moment when Mycroft thought that all hope had gone?"

"Yes!" Sherlock affirmed, clapping his palms together. "If she had chosen a random number, she would have succeeded in bringing this very nation to its knees."

"But you rumbled her." Alex concluded. The detective looked confused and raised an eyebrow. "I mean you thwarted her plans."

"Yes, that's what I did!" Sherlock seemed rather proud of himself. He stood in front of the fireplace with his hands behind his back as if he was expecting a round of applause. The three of them remained in silence for a few moments.

"So, did Mycroft take care of her?" Alex asked eventually.

"No, he let her go."

"He what? He let that scheming, conniving bitch out on the street?!" Alex was on her feet by this point. Sherlock would normally be offended by anyone speaking ill of Irene – but not today. There was no flicker of emotion in his face.

"That phone was her lifeline, her only protection. Without it, she will not go far at all. She even said herself that she wouldn't last six months."

Another short of period of silence dominated the atmosphere of the flat. Alex wanted to see Irene locked up for her criminal dealings, not set free, yet letting her go when the people after her would surely get her and kill her was a cruel decision. Irene's only protection would be at a high security prison – something that Mycroft could wangle easily without trial.

This counteracted Alex's previous opinion of Sherlock's feelings for Irene. She was sure that given his apparently genuine grief at her 'death', he felt something for her that was tantamount to love. However, his indifference now just showed resentment and possible hate. Despite Sherlock's lack of compassion for the general public, Irene's desire for the highest power in the country, to the detriment of anyone else, seemed to have affected him. Was this why he was only referring to Irene as The Woman?

The second of January 2012 was a normal working day for London. Alex spent a few hours at the gym and the library and tried her hardest to do her best at the tasks she aimed to complete at both facilities, but her mind was constantly going back to Sherlock and Irene. Alex knew enough about love to know that once love strikes, it doesn't just go away; not even if he object of the person's love has done something cruel or even evil. Her ex-girlfriend could have done what Irene had done, yet Alex wouldn't have fallen out of love with her. She may not have liked what her ex did, but this would not have negated the _feelings_.

Sherlock had the most honed and disciplined brain out of everyone whom Alex had met in her life. But even he wouldn't be able to command his heart to comply with his head.

Later that evening, Alex offered to buy the boys pizza. She liked spending time with her housemates and she enjoyed takeaway food as much as he next person. However, she had an ulterior motive.

In the middle of Emmerdale (a soap opera Sherlock couldn't stand, so he sat in his chair reading about quantum physics), John went to the bathroom, leaving Alex alone with the detective. She knew what she wanted to ask but was nervous.

"So, um, do you… _care_ about what may happen to Irene?" she asked. Her heart was pounding and her face was flushed. Sherlock didn't even turn to look at her but had deduced her apprehensiveness from the corner of his eye.

"Why would you even _care_ to pose that question?" Sherlock asked with a deeper than normal growl resonating from his throat as he spoke. It only made Alex even more nervous.

"You were, um, obviously upset when she – you know – 'died.'"

Without looking at her, Sherlock put a card in his place in the book and slammed it shut with one hand. Harder than was necessary. He placed the book beside him and pulled his knees up to his chest, hugging them tightly. At that moment, Alex felt a little braver but was cautious of an outburst from him.

"Why do you hate her now? Why were you happy to send her to her inevitable death rather than have her safely put away?"

Sherlock didn't respond. He kept his eyes on the telly and his arms around his legs. Within only two seconds of observing him in this closed position, the answers to Alex's questions had been granted.

He _did_ still love Irene and regretted not making Mycroft have her incarcerated. It was playing on his mind and he was focusing hard on it. Irene would certainly be dead in half a year and he knew it. He didn't hate Irene. He resented himself for not saving her. A second death was coming and he was powerless to stop it. This time, the death would be for real.

Alex silently cursed herself for asking Sherlock such personal and heart-breaking questions and once again tried her hardest to resist the temptation to hug the hurt out of him.


	39. In His Shoes Part One

**Hi, darlings! Hope everyone is in the festive spirit and I am SO glad that 'doomsday' didn't happen! If you haven't had a chance to check out Dancing With The Detective, please read it. I haven't had any reviews yet and any comment at all would make my Christmas. Love you and hugs to all who loves cuddles!**

The week before Alex's book launch was surprisingly less stressful than before the launch of her first book; although this time she was going to be reading an excerpt from her novel herself – on stage in front of over a hundred people! She had taken Peter's advice and practiced in front of her friends. John had been marvellously patient. Sherlock hadn't been interested in the slightest, and had practically ignored Alex since their little chat about what Alex perceived as regret over Irene's fate.

Maybe he hadn't forgiven her for interrogating him about his feelings for Irene and his cold rejection of her plea for protection. However, the more she contemplated him holding a grudge, the more her instincts disagreed with the idea. He couldn't hold a grudge over something like that.

He must have been still metaphorically kicking himself for his lack of sympathy and was probably going to try and find some way of keeping Irene alive. How he would do this, Alex wasn't sure. There was no way Sherlock would, over time, become anesthetised to any pain he may have left Irene to bear, and he would have to either get over it or do what he usually did in such situations – go out there and actually _do_ something.

Sure enough, the day before the book launch, Sherlock took off. He left abruptly one morning, leaving a note for John, saying he was going to Brussels to investigate a suspected double agent on behalf of a UN ambassador. No goodbye at all.

Alex made sure she didn't voice her opinion about Sherlock's 'case in Brussels' – as if that was where he was _really_ going!

The launch of Alex's second novel was tailored to her specific requests. She felt a bit like a diva, but she wanted things to be done her way, and not for the event to be given the 'state dinner' makeover. She had specifically asked that people turn up in casual dress, and there would be karaoke, takeaway food and a bowling competition on a Nintendo Wii. She had also recommended her local gay club's house DJ to play her favourite tracks and had asked for the room that it was to take place in to be transformed into a club after midnight.

John, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade were Alex's personal guests. She had also invited Mycroft but he had declined, _with regret_.

It took all of Alex's courage to recite the selected passage from her novel on stage. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that people were here to listen to her words and would applaud afterwards. She repeated the saying 'what's the worst that could happen?' to herself under her breath for a whole five minutes beforehand.

In the end, it couldn't have been a better night. Not once did Alex stumble on her words and she was so grateful to have her friends near her that everything else seemed to fall into place.

"Excuse me!" a young man called behind her, tapping her on her shoulder. It was one o'clock in the morning and she was finally alone at the bar without someone accosting her for an autograph. She turned around and found a youngish looking man in a winter parka.

"Yeah, where's your book?" Alex said in a 'here we go again' tone. She pulled the top off her pen and held it mid-air.

"No, no! Sorry, I love your work. I'm a fan, but I'm not asking you to sign my copy. Darren Wallace." He held out his hand and Alex tentatively shook it. The boy was rather nervous, very well spoken and overly polite in his manner.

"I need your help. Actually, I need Mr Holmes' help. I've read yours and Doctor Watson's blogs and I know you're both friends of his. I've tried to message him on his website over the last two days but there's been no answer."

"Oh. Sorry, he's out of the country at the moment."

"Right. Any idea when he'll be back?"

"Nope. Sorry. I'm sure he'll contact you when his current case is solved. Whenever that will be."

"It's all right. Don't apologise. Thank you, Miss Price. Congratulations on your book!" he said cheerfully as he departed.

Alex took a small swig from her J20 and watched him walk away. The man needed help, it was obvious. Sherlock was gone and it was not known when he would return but, maybe, she and John could help.

"Wait! Darren! May I call you Darren? Good. Erm, Sherlock may not be back for God-knows-how-long, but then again, he could be back tomorrow. That's Doctor Watson over there." Alex pointed in the direction where John was dancing cheek-to-cheek with Mrs Hudson.

"Oh. There he is. I was looking for him earlier. Is that his mother?" Darren asked rather stupidly.

"No, that's our landlady."

"Ah, the infamous Mrs Hudson!" he gasped.

"Yes, that's her. Anyway, what I was going to say was, Doctor Watson and I have accompanied Sherlock on many of his cases. We might be able to help, or we can do what we can until he returns, and then he'll already have something to go on. That's if you're amenable to that suggestion?"

Darren shuffled on his feet before smiling to show his agreement to her proposal.

"Okay, although I won't take up your valuable time here. Can we meet up tomorrow, please? I know that it is short notice, but I need to get this sorted as soon as possible, you know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I get you. I'm free tomorrow, just let me go and check with John. Won't be a tick!"

Alex approached John and managed to pry him away from Mrs Hudson for a few seconds to tell him the news. He agreed to meeting the following afternoon (he would need to nurse a hangover) and then resumed his dance with his landlady.

"Is tomorrow at two all right for you?" Alex asked when she came back. Darren nodded. "Cool. 221b Baker Street, please ring the bell for 221c – the bell for Sherlock's flat doesn't work," Alex added. Darren nodded again, shook Alex's hand with more enthusiasm before and accompanied it with a 'lean in', before tapping her on the shoulder and departing. It was easy for Alex to deduce that Darren would swagger as if to music when he walked normally, however, his gait seemed cautious and somewhat awkward. Maybe something had happened that had made his confidence take a knock?

It was shortly after half past one the next day when Darren turned up. He was covered from his shoulders to his knees in his heavy green parka and he appeared to have slept in his clothes. His maroon sweater and baggy jeans were old, creased and faded. His trainers were scruffy and were almost coming apart. They must have been years old, for they were a well-known designer make. John and Alex deduced that he must have run all the way to Baker Street as he was very much out of breath.

"Hi," he wheezed as he shook their hands.

"How are you?" John asked uneasily. He stared at Darren with a keen eye, seeming to notice that something distressing had happened to the man. It was true that their client appeared disorientated.

"Um, fine. Fine."

Alex and John exchanged glances. Maybe he needed a boost before he could say what was on his mind? His face was rather pale and his eyes were a little bloodshot. He didn't seem well at all and Alex felt rather sorry for him.

"I'll put the kettle on. Have you eaten today, Darren?"

"No, I…I…" he stuttered, scratching the back of his neck and not accepting John's offer of a seat. John's doctor's instincts took over the situation.

"Okay, Darren, you've come here for help, yes? Okay, sit down, Alex will make you some tea and a sandwich. I'm a doctor. Do you mind if I give you a small check up?"

John used his stethoscope to listen to Darren's heart and lungs. He also took his temperature and found that the man had a very weak heart rate and his breathing was rather shallow. His temperature was also lower than it should be.

"Come on, eat up. We'll discuss it when you've finished," Alex said as she passed him two rounds of jam sandwiches and a large mug of tea.

Darren ate as if he hadn't eaten in days. He had to stop after a few bites and seemed to be in a bit of pain. John urged him to take his time and Darren complied.

"I'm going to take all this down and email it to Sherlock. He's got his phone on him so he might be able to tell us what to do," John said, reaching for his laptop. Alex thought about the missing detective for a moment. She felt rather glad that Sherlock wasn't there. He would not have given this poor man the time of day and definitely wouldn't have shown any compassion. By offering this man some food and a cup of tea they mutually felt like they were helping another human being, as well as trying to solve a case. It was rather gratifying and a feeling they would not have got with Sherlock Holmes being present. Still, Alex missed him and she was sure that the detective's best friend, doctor and blogger was missing him too.

"Okay. So, Darren. What can we help you with?" John asked. Alex had her notebook out ready to take down her own notes. She had decided to write 'notes' on one side and 'deductions' on the other. Applying what she could of Sherlock's methods, she wrote down what she noticed about Darren's appearance and body language.

Setting the plate and mug down on the small end table, Darren rung his hands and took a deep breath.

"Three weeks ago I started a new job at the sports centre around the corner from where I live. Doing a bit of this and that; lifeguard, hall attendant, reception – you name it. I was doing well and was there for two weeks."

Darren seemed to lose his trail of thought. He drummed his fingers together and stared at the ground as if he'd get some answers from there. John was rather slow at typing, or 'wood-pecking' as Alex called it, so they exchanged devices. Alex finished typing the first part of Darren's story in a couple of seconds. As if on cue when Alex stopped and looked up at him, Darren continued.

"It was just a normal day when it happened."

"What happened?" John asked.

"I was sacked."

"Sacked?" John repeated as he couldn't believe that someone had asked for Sherlock's help over a sacking.

"Yeah." Darren seemed so calm and oblivious to John's disbelief.

"So what do you need our help for?" John asked.

"Maybe he was sacked unjustly and wants us to prove there was no gross misconduct?" Alex suggested.

"Yes! That's exactly what I need your – well, Mr Holmes' help with."

They sat in silence for a moment. Alex was once given the option of leave or be sacked when she was eighteen over unfair accusations made about staff. She understood exactly what this man was going through.

"I'm sorry, I'm just so angry about it. I've lost my job, my income and my mum has kicked me out because of it. I'm twenty and I haven't held down a job since I quit school at fifteen. But I _swear_ I did my best at this new job. I really wanted to make a go of things and I put my head down and worked hard. Anyway, after a couple of weeks I get called up to the manager's office, don't I? I was accused of a range of things: not sweeping and mopping the floor on several occasions, deliberately erecting the trampoline wrong so somebody would sustain an injury – thank God that didn't happen – and failing to check the chlorine and pH levels of the pool and spa."

"_That's_ why you were sacked?" Alex interrupted. John shushed her.

"He said that there were minor and major reasons?"

"Yeah," Darren sighed, "those were the minor ones – except the trampoline because the client complained. The main, _main_ reason was that a client had accused me of threatening them. Apparently I shouted and said that I would get someone onto them."

"How?" John asked.

"That's the thing, Doctor Watson, I don't know. They didn't say what I was supposed to have shouted or who was I was going to 'get onto them.'"

Alex and John exchanged questioning glances. It was a several seconds before John continued the consultation.

"So… you were called up to the manager's office and sacked for all those things?"

"Yeah. They just reeled off all these accusations without going into much detail, which was weird. But what really hurt was the look on my manager's face. It was sheer disappointment and distrust." Darren was lost in thought after remembering this painful anecdote. He was crushed by being accused of misconduct. "They sacked me without letting me have my say. Their view was that because I was on probation, they didn't need to go down the formal disciplinary route."

The next few moments were spend in contemplation from all three members of the room. Alex reviewed her notes and felt the need to question Darren more.

"Darren, when you said, 'thank God that didn't happen', with the trampoline, what did you mean by that?"

"Erm, I, er…" Darren stuttered.

"We must emphasise the need for honesty, Darren," John said, "because we need to know _all_ the facts. Anything that may seem trivial or taken for granted, assumption, etcetera, may be relevant. Please tell us the whole story."

This caught Darren off guard. Alex guessed that he was secretly hoping that just his innocent face and placid manner would be enough, but the two stand-in detectives needed more information. Darren took a deep breath before speaking again.

"It is true that the day before the meeting with the manager I didn't sweep the sports hall or mop the lower ground corridors when asked. That was the only truthful thing, I _swear_. Other than that the other allegations are false! I secured the trampoline correctly – that I can guarantee. Half an hour into the practice, one of the regular gymnasts reported that the trampoline wasn't secure. She went into a rage and my manager told me that she was so irate that she took her complaint to the CEO."

"It wasn't the CEO who spoke with you, though, was it? It was your line manager." John added. Darren confirmed the doctor was correct and John took the opportunity to share his scepticism with his colleague with just a look. This was when Alex and John's full attention was engaged and they were full of eagerness to hear more and do what they could to clear this young man's name.

"Is there anything else you can tell us? Like, do you have any evidence or other pieces of information that we can work with to confirm categorically that you were stitched up? Were there any people at the Sports Centre who disliked you or had enough, er, _beef_ with you to construct such an elaborate plot?" Alex asked.

Darren nodded and continued. "I never met the CEO personally. I mean, I saw her getting into her Mercedes some evenings, and I know _of_ her. Yet, what seemed weird was that the day I was sacked, when I walked out, I saw her in her car. She saw me; she most definitely did, and dismissed me just as much as if I were just another employee or customer."

"Did she smile, signal or say anything to you?" John enquired.

"She looked at me and gave a kind of casual smile. That's the only way I can describe it. Another thing that was odd was that two days later, I was walking to the Job Centre and I deliberately took the long way round so I would avoid the place. I saw the girl who made the complaint in the passenger seat of my manager's car. She wearing this grin and blinked a look at me whilst grinning like a Cheshire cat. I think she has something to do with it."

It wasn't an unjustified statement, but had not been proven. John and Alex did not comment further but John did bring Darren back to Alex's question about exactly why they would do this.

"I don't know. That is most genuine answer. If you and Mr Holmes are able to help me I would be very grateful. Except I have no money. I can't pay you or Mr Holmes yet but I can promise you that when I get a job, I will transfer a monthly amount into all of your bank accounts until your fees are paid. Please believe me." Darren was imploring them both with a desperate plea. John was more motivated by money than Sherlock was; however, the doctor in him knew that this man was in a very distressed and emotional state. He needed liberation and closure.

Once again, the doctor and the writer exchanged glances before nodding affirmatively and accepting the case on behalf of their absent colleague. Darren expressed his thanks enthusiastically and pressed his palms together in front of his face before rubbing the tears from his eyes. Alex eventually lost count of how many times the unfortunate man said 'thank you.'

"Although," Alex said to both the men in the room, "I will put all this down in an email and send it to Sherlock to see if he has any time to spare to give advice, or if he wants to wait until he returns to investigate."

"He may decline, Alex. You know that he's very picky," John told her carefully.

"Yes, but this does seem like a challenge. Either way, Darren, I personally promise you that whether Sherlock will accept your case or not, _I_ will help you to the best of my ability and I'm sure John here is also happy to help," Alex said as she turned to her friend and colleague, pleading for him to agree, even though they both knew that he was drawn to danger. Sherlock was always drawn to mystery as Alex was to adventure. John thought for a second before acquiescing.

After another flurry of gratitude from the new client, and a cup of tea later, Alex and John went to 221c for the rest of the day. Mitzie had been rather lonely and was meowing profusely for over half an hour after she had been fed. John was left to entertain the kitten for Alex almost immediately set about constructing her email to Sherlock Holmes – wherever he was. He would have his iPhone on him so he would be able to receive emails.

Two hours and several proofreading sessions from both of them later, Alex sent her message to the detective.

_From: Alexandra Price_

_To: Sherlock Holmes_

_Date: 08/01/12_

_Subject: New Case – Unfair Dismissal_

_Hi Sherlock_

_Hope you are well. A young man has visited Baker Street asking for your help. He was sacked from his job as a 'dog's body' at his local Sports Centre for apparently threatening a client and not securing a trampoline for a loyal customer. He says that the allegations are untrue and he believes that someone has stitched him up. I understand that you are busy but please can you confirm if you are able to accept the case when you are back – whenever that will be – or if you are able to help based on the information below. If you cannot take the case when you come back, John and I have promised the client, Darren Wallace, that we will help him as best we can. With or without your expertise. However, your wisdom would be greatly appreciated. Please see below the notes I made during our consultation with him._

It was half an hour later when Alex received a response.

_From: Sherlock Holmes_

_To: Alexandra Price_

_Date: 08/01/12_

_Subject: Re: New Case – Unfair Dismissal (what a stupid title!)_

_Alex,_

_I have read your notes and find them most appalling. You clearly have not observed well for you have told me nothing about HIM. Think back and give me a description. Plus, you will also need to be able to answer these questions before even thinking of pitching the case (I use the term lightly) to me._

_What were his shifts, particularly the day of the 'trampoline' incident?_

_Had he befriended any of his colleagues and did he know any of them before commencement of his employment?_

_Did he reveal anything personal about his past, personality or beliefs?_

_Why did he erect the trampoline on his own? It's a two-man job and any remotely professional Sports Centre would not allow anyone, especially a new and inexperienced member of staff, to put up a trampoline alone._

_At what time was the allegation made and at what time was Mr Wallace called up to the manager's office? Also, who was present in the meeting besides said gentleman and the manager?_

_Did Mr Wallace see the CEO at any point on the day of the allegation and dismissal?_

_Did he know the complainant? Had she been at the Sports Centre before during one of his shifts? If so, did they interact?_

_How did the complainant notice that the trampoline was insecure?_

_Who was on duty the day that Mr Wallace neglected to 'mop and sweep?'_

_Had Mr Wallace been a client of the Sports Centre beforehand? If so, how long and what sports?_

_Who made the threat allegation? Where did it allegedly take place, when and what specifically did Mr Wallace apparently say to the client?_

The list went on a little bit longer, with Sherlock asking about how Darren got the job and what he ate in the canteen. By the end, Alex and John knew that they would only get some of the answers by visiting the establishment. Maybe they would have to book a sporting activity? Alex suggested that she could try and get Darren's old job if it was still available. It wouldn't be open for long, and she would be able to gain some insight that way. Alex put the idea to Sherlock.

_From: Sherlock Holmes_

_To: Alexandra Price_

_Date: 08/01/12_

_Subject: Re: Re: New Case – Unfair Dismissal (what a stupid title!) – remove this subject, Alex, it is positively tedious_

_Alex, _

_If you wish to take that course of action, by all means do so. It is not a bad idea and the best you have had so far. May I suggest that you use a pseudonym and not your real name, for people will know who you are and disguise yourself a little. I have some travelling to do and tasks to execute. If I am back within the next week, I will take up the case. If not, I will rely on you and John to do your best. Kindly inform Mr Wallace that I accept, provided you have not solved it beforehand, which I am not counting on. However, please keep me informed and DON'T make it boring._

_SH_

"Okay. That's what I'll do!" Alex said as she searched the site for the Sports Centre's website. She called and enquired about any vacancies. To her surprise, they had not appointed anyone as Darren's replacement. She downloaded the application form and submitted it within the hour, hoping for the best.

**This is a subject close to my heart as I was stitched up ten years ago after being at a place of work for two weeks and I never found out why. Merry Christmas to all! It's my birthday Friday – thought I'd throw that in! Being a Christmas baby is fun because I get two lots of pressies! A review would be a very nice pressie!**

**BTW – I've just bought the Casebook (which is fabulous!) and found more continuity errors! I won't rant like I did before but I'm going to be moving Hounds to the end of June and, as previously stated, Reichenbach will happen at the end of July. That gives me more time to write stories (Oh God!)**

**I've also kept AWA as 2012 though as I have included this previously. **

**Kisses xxx**


	40. In His Shoes Part Two

_Watch and observe_ was the advice that Sherlock Holmes had imparted for Alex's first day as Darren Wallace's replacement. They had exchanged a number of emails and she had made sure that she obtained as much information as possible. She had been able to answer some of Sherlock's questions but there was more to find out.

_What were his shifts, particularly the day of the 'trampoline' incident?_

**Various: 6-2, 8-4, 9-5, 10-6, 12-8, 2-10. It was 6-2 on the day of the 'trampoline' incident.**

_Had he befriended any of his colleagues and did he know any of them before commencement of his employment? _

**Not befriended but had developed an alliance with a sports hall attendant, Chris Blenheim. Chris' involvement in the conspiracy is not known by Darren.**

_Did he reveal anything personal about his past, personality or beliefs? _

**Many things. The fact that he has a record for shoplifting and ABH as well as a short period of time as a gang member. He didn't keep anything private and was admittedly too open with staff.**

_Why did he erect the trampoline on his own? It's a two-man job and any remotely professional Sports Centre would not allow anyone, especially a new and inexperienced member of staff, to put up a trampoline alone. _

**He wasn't alone putting up two other trampolines in the hall, which Chris helped with. It was the third trampoline he erected himself but he swears that the hinges were locked correctly when he left. **

_At what time was the allegation made and at what time was Mr Wallace called up to the manager's office? Also, who was present in the meeting besides said gentleman and the manager?_

**The allegation of a threat was made at 12:20pm and the trampoline incident happened at 12:30pm. Darren was called up at 1:10pm. The duty manager, Carl Addams, was present.**

_Did Mr Wallace see the CEO at any point on the day of the allegation and dismissal?_

**Only on his departure.**

_Did he know the complainant? Had she been at the Sports Centre before during one of his shifts? If so, did they interact? _

**The girl who was on the trampoline had been attending the centre for eight years and had never made a complaint. The lady who was allegedly threatened was a swimmer who had been going for a year.**

_How did the complainant notice that the trampoline was insecure?_

**She felt it jolt so she checked the hinges. One had not been fastened right. She was lucky the trampoline didn't give way and she wasn't injured.**

_Who was on duty the day that Mr Wallace neglected to 'mop and sweep?'_

**Carl Addams.**

_Had Mr Wallace been a client of the Sports Centre beforehand? If so, how long and what sports?_

**Only when he went swimming whilst at Primary School. Not in nine years.**

_Who made the threat allegation? Where did it allegedly take place, when and what specifically did Mr Wallace apparently say to the client?_

**The lady who made the allegation said that she had emerged from the changing rooms and Darren was in the corridor. He had apparently told her to go back into the changing room, which was deserted, and made his threats with her backed into a corner.**

_Disguise yourself _was another piece of useful advice given by Sherlock. The day before the interview, Alex had made an emergency hairdressing appointment, and, although she usually had a full head of highlights, she asked for an entire cover of dark plum. Mrs Hudson almost had a heart attack when she saw her surrogate niece enter 221b Baker Street with long, gothic looking hair.

With her pale complexion and rosy cheeks emphasised with a thick layer of make up, Alex decided it was the best disguise of all and she rather liked it. She had also darkened her eyes and had placed a beauty spot beneath her right eye with felt-tip eyeliner. John had met her in the lobby before the interview and was literally speechless with shock.

"If you hadn't emerged from your flat I would have sworn that you were someone else!"

Alex got the doctor to take a photo of her on her BlackBerry before they made their way to Baker Street Underground station. A sense of déjà vu swept over Alex as they walked through the same corridors and moved onto the same platform that Alex had visited months before, when she had confronted Sally Donovan. She was glad that their paths had not crossed in a while and that their current case did not involve the police.

It was this notion that made Alex realise that no matter what they did for Darren, it was unlikely that the law could make a judgement on the guilty party.

Alex left the interview very disappointed. She had given her name as Alexandra Phillips, but she wasn't sure if she had been convincing enough. Sherlock was the expert in manipulation and pretence, but Alex had not acted a day in her life.

The next day, Alex received the phone call she was hoping for. Despite her nervousness and scepticism over her performance in the interview, she had got the job and would start the very next day, which was a Thursday.

"Can I help you?" the receptionist asked Alex, after letting four badminton players through to the sports hall.

"Yes, Alex Phillips, I'm due to start work here today," she answered nervously. Alex could feel the familiar knot in her stomach and the twitch of the nerves return from the interview two days before. This time, the anxiety had multiplied. For the first time, she was playing the detective on her own. A part of her was excited, like she was one of Charlie's Angels, with John as Bosley and Sherlock as Charlie. Another part of her felt like a failure already.

Sherlock always saw fear as a debilitating paralytic that should be nipped in the bud before it even started. It was easier said than done when you hadn't got a finely-honed mind like the brilliant consulting detective, Alex thought.

The sports hall was the first place she was due to spend the day. Alex had been given a two week induction plan and the sports hall was where she would predominantly be. The staff room was cluttered yet cosy, and opened into the corridor at one end with the stock room at the other. Alex noticed that there were four large trampolines.

As much as she was tempted to do so, she never mentioned her predecessor. However, she was in an advantageous position. The duty manager for her first week was Carl Addams and the sports hall attendant who would be acting as her mentor was Chris Blenheim.

Chris showed Alex around first and was very quick to put the cleaning duties on her shoulders. Sweeping and mopping.

Alone in the sports hall, which had two large basketball courts and massive blue curtains to separate them, she contemplated her meeting with Chris Blenheim. Desperately trying to apply Sherlock's methods, she stretched her analytical skills to their limits and tried not to make any assumptions.

He was very tall, very thin, wore a blue baseball cap, and was twenty-two years of age. His clothes were far too loose, but it could have been because there wasn't a small enough uniform for him. There were several stains on the pique polo shirt; old stains of tea and bits of fluff all over it, which had been there all morning. He obviously didn't take much pride in his appearance and, given the stains, he didn't have much, or any, spare work t-shirts. He had also neglected to lint-roll and iron his work clothes. Not a very appearance-conscious man, and he was also athletic-looking, yet he had trouble stretching and reaching for things in the sports hall, and had to ask Alex for help to move four foot thick mats into the sports hall.

So, he didn't take his job seriously, and took no pride in his professional appearance. He was obviously a social man as he was constantly fumbling with his phone, typing one-handed in a way that could rival Sherlock's expert gadget-happy hands when they found solutions to baffling enigmas at breakneck speed. He also kept the phone in the deep pocket of his tracksuit bottom, even though it stated on the staff Code of Conduct that was pinned to the walls and doors that phones should be kept in offices or lockers. His work shoes were dirty and well-worn, like his uniform, but his trainers were clean, new and fashionable. They were a bit expensive-looking for a sports attendant's salary.

Chris was well spoken and polite, but mostly to customers. He seemed to adopt the same approach with Carl and others in positions of authority but with a slight twist in his attitude that seemed brazen. Like he was sucking up the best way he could. He had the backing of management and Alex found herself beginning to distrust and suspect the man.

Once the sweeping and mopping had been done, Alex joined Chris in the staffroom for a cup of tea before the local basketball team were due to arrive.

"How long have your worked here?" Alex asked him casually.

"Six years. I got the job here just as I left school."

That made Alex wonder why he hadn't been promoted at all since joining the centre. Maybe his tactics of 'brown-nosing' management was a way of getting ahead. Was he bored and frustrated in his current position at the centre?

"Oh, I'll do that," Alex said, approaching her mentor to make the tea. She almost had to barge him out of the way. This was necessary as being in front of the sideboard gave her a perfect view of his phone. It was a fairly new iPhone 4S. No scuff marks around the charger and no scratches, so he obviously took pride in this gadget, however short a period of time he had owned it. Except it was rather stained with multiple fingerprints. The guy was either addicted to his phone, or he had extensive social contacts and business to take care of outside work.

Chris watched the basketball game through the window of the staff room when the team arrived, whilst Alex nosed around some more. She examined the massive folded trampolines in the stock room, checking for any signs of damage. She noticed the hinges and locks, noticing that it was a simple interlocking device but she wanted to know more.

The centre had a trampoline session booked for the very next morning for all four of the pieces of equipment. Alex decided now was the time to carry out some research.

It took some persuading skills to get Chris to show Alex how to correctly set up a trampoline. He had almost insisted on showing her the next morning instead, but Alex told him that she would rather know in advance. The stock room had a large open floor space and, after being shown how to erect the apparatus, Alex could definitely see why it took two or more people to do so. It was heavy and difficult to handle. The locking devices at the sides, where the folding points were, could easily be tampered with. If the hinges were pulled out of joint on one side, the trampoline would be able to stay upright for a while, but multiple jumps would soon bring it crashing down. But how long would that have to last?

Alex knew that she had to check some of the books for information, so she waited until Chris visited the restroom to find out.

Roisin McDuff was the gymnast who made the complaint about the trampoline. Alex checked the bookings for the lady and noticed that hers, as well as other names, were underlined in red pen for each booking. She made a mental note to enquire about this later and, flicking back to the date of the incident, Alex's mouth fell open in shock.

Roisin had started her session on Christmas Eve at midday. Apparently, she noticed the trampoline's right hand lock and hinge had been tampered with half an hour later. Surely she wouldn't have been jumping for half an hour, she would have had breaks every few minutes? However, if the apparatus had been erected wrongly in the first place, why didn't Chris check, with Darren being a newbie? Furthermore, she thought to herself, the trampoline would most likely have given way much earlier than half-past.

Alex had to sit down and gather her thoughts after reading through the information. Why didn't Chris and Carl pick up on this information? Chris would have had to have been the person in trouble for not checking the trampoline. On the other hand, Darren had been at the sports centre for two weeks at this point, and had erected the trampolines several times, and if he had assured Chris that it was fastened properly, why would he have checked?

After rationalising this matter, Alex's thoughts returned to the fact that there was no way that the trampoline had been set up without the hinge and lock being in place. Someone must have tampered with it. The suspects so far were Roisin and Chris. Although any of the gymnasts, spectators or members of staff could have done the deed.

The clear evidence in front of her now was manifesting itself, and the excitement pulsing through Alex's blood was spurring her forwards, making her more determined than ever to get to the bottom of this mystery.

On her break, she decided to get some air and alleviate her lungs of the damp, dusty air of the sports hall, which was below ground-level.

But, on her way to the stairs, she stopped. The ladies changing room for the swimming pool was right at her flank and was beckoning her to enter. This was the room that the alleged 'threat' took place. Alex remembered that Darren had been accused of making the threat in that very room and, apparently, there was nobody else in there at the time. Even though a step inside this room would not help her, she couldn't help the curiosity.

As she took a step towards the door, she paused to consider another matter. Why would a male member of staff, who wouldn't have had any business being in there before or after the incident, have taken a woman into this room, risking catching other women making a complaint, or him catching them in a state of undress? How would he have known that the room was vacant? Maybe the woman whom he had apparently threatened had said so, for she had just emerged from the room herself. However, other ladies and girls could have possibly entered the room from the swimming pool entrance, so using this room as the place to administer a threat would have been impractical and rather stupid. Darren wasn't a bright spark by any means, but he certainly wasn't gormless.

It occurred to her then that management had not taken any of this into consideration and, although they had seen the evidence, as Sherlock Holmes would have said, they saw but they did not observe. She laughed at the absurdity of all and seemed to hear Sherlock laughing in her head. He, too, would have had a field day making the incompetent look even more ridiculous.

Alex stepped into the brightly lit white room and saw that there were booths in the open areas, small enclosed changing rooms, and family rooms. There were also rows and rows of lockers, with signs stating that there were more lockers at the poolside. There were two families in the changing rooms and Alex quickly made her way past them and moved around the corner where she saw the showers and toilet cubicles. The entrance to the pool was a little way beyond that and what Alex saw next made her heart take off.

A pool attendant was stood in the doorway, behind a small desk with a large book. A woman, who had finished her swimming session, made a quick note in it and entered the changing rooms. A signing-in book? That had never happened at the sports centre she used to attend in her hometown.

"Excuse me," Alex said after a few minutes of contemplation. She wasn't due to have her pool attendant training for three days and the case could not wait that long. "I'm looking for someone; I just want to see if they are still here. Mind if I check the book?"

"No not at all," the attendant said, handing it to her as if he was glad to be free of it.

Alex chatted with the guy for a while but was sure not to turn the pages back to Christmas Eve as this would have aroused suspicion. She realised that she would have to find some way of being able to observe the book and, if possible, take some photocopies or photographs. Luckily, her chance was not far away.

"Oh, could you do me a favour?" the attendant asked her. "You couldn't hold the fort while I spend a penny could you? Thanks."

Alex hardly had a choice but had to be back at the sports hall soon, so she took the book and flicked the pages so she could see who was at the pool on Christmas Eve at the time of the incident. She made sure that the time of twenty-past twelve was at the forefront of her mind as she checked the times.

Six women and girls entered the pool between midday and one in the afternoon. Two of them would have been present at the alleged time of the threat. Three others, who had arrived earlier that morning, left the pool at a quarter-past twelve.

Alex gasped and looked around the small reception area, hoping to find a photocopier. There wasn't one. The small office next to the locker key rack was open and the lifeguards were busy giving lessons in the baby pool, so they would not notice her enter. In this room, she found what she was looking for and quickly took a photocopy of the relevant page. She constantly checked around her for signs of staff watching her and she was relieved when nobody saw what she had done. Alex was sure to keep the paper out of sight so she folded the sheet of paper six before plunging it deep into her pocket.

The attendant had arrived back by the time Alex had finished and was looking around for her. Her heart pounded as she struggled to come up with an explanation. It didn't take Alex long to decide what the explanation would be when she saw the glass of water that had been left on the staff table.

"Why were you in the office?" the attendant asked. Alex was already rubbing the sleeve of her hoody over the page. She had been sure to turn it back to the current date.

"I, er, dropped it and the pages got wet on the tiles, so I went to see if there was a towel in the office. There wasn't one. Sorry."

"Oh, God. Okay, I'll find one. Thanks for minding the desk, just try not to be so clumsy in future."

Alex breathed a sigh of relief once she had left the changing room and felt the cool breeze of the corridor, made by the open door to the far end that led to the tennis courts and ski slope.

Chris was too busy texting to notice Alex walk in. She quickly made her way to her backpack and surreptitiously placed the piece of paper in her lunch bag so that it couldn't be accidentally seen.

She had accomplished so much in that one morning that she just had to update John. Alex made sure that she was well away from the sports centre grounds before doing so. She spotted a small pond nearby and sat on one of the seats facing the centre so she could see who was coming and who was going.

She filled John in on all of the details and became rather frustrated when she had to repeat herself slowly so that he could type everything down. John had also been researching what was known on the internet, doing his best to research the gang that Darren was once part of, Roisin McDuff's gymnastic achievements, and the history of the sports centre. All that served as valuable was that Roisin and Chris had both attended the same school as Darren, except they were two years above him, so Darren didn't have much contact with them at all. He hardly ever attended and, thus, didn't recall anything whatsoever.

The remainder of the day was rather uneventful. Alex had utilised all of her strength to hold back from asking Chris anything that could give him any reason to question her methods. Instead, she asked more about him and his life. Over a period of four hours, Alex learned that Chris had been involved with Roisin for over a year and from his rather coy and passionate description of their romance, it was clear he was head over heels in love with the young woman.

He seemed a bit submissive and the more Alex spoke with him, the more it seemed that he was in awe of his girlfriend and would do simply anything for her. Eventually, their conversation became so deep that Alex sensed instability in the relationship. He was under her thumb, and she was most definitely the alpha. It was probably why he kept in contact with his friends while in work, rather than outside of work, for she had forbidden him

Alex's hands were aching so much she had to shake them several times when she had written out her notes and sent an email to Sherlock, which she had not bothered to title. She was poised for a picky and derogatory as ever message back, telling her that she and John had gone about the matter all wrong, yet his reply was nothing like she expected.

_From: Sherlock Holmes_

_To: Alexandra Price_

_Date: 10/01/12_

_Subject: Re: _

_Alex,_

_Your investigations have been productive and useful but I will return tomorrow evening and will be taking charge of the matter. You and John have handled the matter efficiently, yet there are many discrepancies that I must investigate further. Please invite Mr Wallace to dinner tomorrow at 7pm and cook him his favourite meal. If it mystifies you as to why I say that, it is so that he will open up and be able to tell us more because he has not been totally honest. Truthful, but not honest. _

_Save me some dinner, would you please?_

_SH_


	41. In His Shoes Part Three

"Oh, for Christ's sake!" Alex yelled, waving her burnt finger frantically, trying to shake away the stinging pain.

"What?" John asked.

"I burnt my bloody finger on the side of the pan!"

"Well, you're the one who insisted on cooking dinner, rather than getting a takeaway."

"John, it was cheaper, healthier and more rewarding to cook a chicken tikka masala from scratch, and I had a perfect recipe in this book here," she said, pointing to the large book on the stand next to the cooker.

Alex had not only insisted on cooking Darren's favourite meal, rather than buying it ready-made, but that they would dine in her flat. She was cautious about cooking such an elaborate dinner in Sherlock's makeshift laboratory when she had a perfectly good kitchen, stocked with practically everything that an accomplished chef might need. She had even baked naan bread and was rather pleased with the results.

When Alex had questioned Sherlock about why she had to prepare Darren's favourite meal and make enquiries into his personal and social life, Sherlock had been quite reticent about the reason for this apparent necessity. He eventually rescinded and confirmed that this method was to ensure that he would open up and be more comfortable disclosing more information. Darren had not been completely honest and Sherlock was adamant about this fact.

"Fair enough," John responded. "Sherlock must be _very_ hungry to ask that we save him some dinner."

"Hmm." Alex agreed. She thought that another motive for giving Darren his favourite meal was Sherlock's way of killing two birds with one stone.

Sure enough, the detective arrived home at seven o'clock sharp – the reverberations of his feet could be heard loud and clear in the basement flat. He made his way upstairs at what seemed to be the speed of Usain Bolt and then stayed in his flat for less than a minute before sprinting back downstairs and bursting into Alex's living room as if he owned the place.

"Mmm, I judge that it's just less than five minutes until dishing-up time from the scent." Alex and John gawped at Sherlock, who was dressed in his smartest black suit and a crisp white shirt under the jacket. Alex had seen him wear this shirt before and, even as slim as Sherlock was, the buttons would be straining on his chest. But now, they were perfectly relaxed. John's deductions about Sherlock's request were correct and Alex was sure to let the detective know, considering he never gave John's intelligence much credit.

Sherlock ignored her, of course, and instead turned to Alex's dining table, where Darren Wallace was sat a minute earlier. As soon as Sherlock had entered the room, he had risen and had clearly been itching to shake the formidable detective's hand.

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Mr Holmes."

"Likewise, Mr Wallace," Sherlock said, with obvious cheer oozing from his pores. He was always polite and courteous around clients, for the first minute or two at least, but he was never delighted to meet them. He only gave the mysteries his utmost respect, not the people who presented them. The two men sat down at the table and Alex earwigged while they chatted. Sherlock gestured for John to come to his side before the conversation took place. Alex had always known that Sherlock was highly manipulative, but his performance over dinner was worth an Academy Award.

"I'm so sorry to hear of your plight, Mr Wallace. From your clothes and the holes in your ears, which had metal appendages in them until a week ago, I can tell that you are struggling to make ends meet. You didn't have a family Christmas or New Year either. Is that right Mr Wallace?"

"Darren, please, sir."

"No need for the sir – I haven't been knighted. Yet…"

Darren chuckled.

"So, how did you spend the festive period, Darren?" Sherlock asked.

"With a mate. Just spent Christmas day eating lots of toast and drinking tea. I slept through New Year."

Sherlock nodded in acknowledgement and eyed his client appraisingly, resting his elbows on the table with his hands in 'prayer' in front of his chin. John looked like he couldn't believe that Sherlock was being so sociable.

Once they were all tucked into their dinner, Sherlock pressed Darren further.

"Did you enjoy your time at the sports centre? Notwithstanding the events on that _fateful_ day, of course." His voice was laced with sarcasm, virtually perfectly masked by a false sugar-coating.

"Yeah, it was cool. I got on with Chris but I'm sure he had some hand in the allegations 'cause he seemed kind of _off_ with me that day."

"Really?" Sherlock pressed, gaining a curious reaction from Darren.

"Yeah… I mean, he was the one who filed the threat complaint. The lady complained to him."

The table was silent for a minute, except for the sound of chewing and cutlery being clanged on plates. Mitzie tried to get food from all of them and managed to jump onto Darren's lap once the plates were cleared. He held the kitten and stroked her while Sherlock smiled at them both. The cat had unwittingly played her own part in the matter. She helped Darren to drop his inhibitions.

"Did you meet any ladies there, Darren? Anyone who… took your fancy?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah, there was one."

Sherlock flicked his eyes to John, who read his mind.

"A gymnast, by any chance?" the doctor asked, leaning forwards.

"Yeah… I flirted with her a couple of times but she knocked me back 'cause she got a fella."

"Oh, God! Darren, we asked you to be honest with us from day one, didn't we?" Alex reprimanded. Sherlock held out his palm to her and waved it a couple of times to tell her to calm down. Alex sunk back into her chair with a thud and screwed up her face as if she had been told off.

"I was! I swear! I just… didn't think it was, you know, anything to do with it, is all," Darren said innocently, shrugging his shoulders.

"Any piece of information could be relevant, Darren," John added.

"Was her name Roisin McDuff, by any chance?" Alex inquired.

"Er, yeah. I remember she had a go at me because I pronounced her name 'Royzen!'"

"Did she seem familiar to you?" John asked.

"No. I don't think so," Darren responded, swivelling his eyes about as if searching his thoughts.

"Are you sure?" Sherlock pressed. He tilted his head and locked eyes with his client.

Darren remained incredulous. He squinted and balled his hands into fists on the table.

"Oh, yeah! She was at school with me! I went out with her older sister when I was in year eleven."

"The plot thickens, Darren. As you weren't truthful from the start, how can we verify the legitimacy of the case now?" Alex said loudly, her anger rising. Sherlock repeated his previous hand signal.

Seconds later, Alex's door burst open with a bang, and two sets of feet came stampeding down. A young woman's voice screamed down the stairs.

"You bastard! You ruined my sister's life! You're getting what you deserved, you womanising, devious, detestable bastard!"

She stopped as soon as she saw Alex. The young writer had met her earlier that day at the sports centre but Alex was surprised to see her here. Chris Blenheim was behind her, sporting an anxious and slightly terrified expression.

"What the…?" Alex and John said simultaneously. They had both stood up and Darren was also in a state of shock.

"_So_ kind of you to join us, Roisin. Chris," Sherlock greeted as he approached them.

"Mr Holmes. I'm obliged to you for helping to _nail_ this son of a b –"

"Yes, you bestowed on his names an hour ago, no need to repeat them."

Sherlock was very calm. He was standing beside the hysterical gymnast with his hand on her shoulder, looking at Darren with a disappointed expression. The detective had some explaining to do.

"I arrived back in England yesterday. I kept a low profile at my brother's club and, using a meticulous disguise, I spent the day at the centre yesterday. You didn't notice me, Alex, but why should you have done? You didn't know I was there and assumed I was still abroad, so it was easy for me to hide in plain sight. Although we only crossed paths once, when you were mopping the corridor. I spoke with Roisin and Chris separately and got the truth from them. Roisin, if you could…?"

"Thank you, Mr Holmes," Roisin said before recounting her story. "_Darren_ here is a deceitful, lying toe rag. He went out with my sister Sinead for two years, which were the worst years of her life. She had a place at University and was about to start but _he_ ruined it for her."

"I never ruined anything!" Darren shouted.

"Quiet! You have to hear what she has to say," Sherlock demanded.

"He was dealing drugs in the last year of school. He got my sister hooked on weed and then crack. It cost Sinead her university position."

"Are these allegations true, Darren?" John asked, taking his usual position at Sherlock's side.

"Um, yes. But she wanted to know what it was like and I showed her! I never made her and it wasn't my fault that she became an addict!"

"Please, Darren! Roisin, continue."

"She overdosed one night at a party that _he_ was hosting. She almost died! Luckily she came away with her life but she is now unable to work or take care of herself. No charges were ever brought because she took the drugs of her own free will, but if _he_ hadn't taken her there, she would never have taken the drugs that almost claimed her life! I hardly recognised him until Chris started talking about this new person who admitted to a life of crime. But, oh, he was turning over a new leaf and all that! A leopard never changes his spots.

"I knew that the legal system couldn't bring him to justice so when I found out he was working at the sports centre I knew what I had to do. It was so near Christmas and when Chris told me that he was trying to do his best for his mum, he was trying to be the good guy and blah blah blah, I had to bring him down. He also cheated on my Sinead with half the girls in the borough. He gets about, he does!"

"That's quite enough. Why don't you tell us how you got Chris to lie about the threat allegation, Roisin?" Sherlock asked, moving away and gesturing for everyone to take a seat. They all reluctantly obeyed. Roisin looked down at the ground as she spoke. She appeared to feel justified in her actions, although, on the other hand, she may have regretted taking things as far as she did.

"I told him what Darren had done. It was my idea, all mine. All he had to do was forge the complaint."

"Yes, I found it strange that the 'lady' who made the complaint never saw the CEO in person, yet you did, Roisin," Sherlock said.

"How did you find out about that?" Chris asked; the first words he had uttered since entering Alex's flat.

"Oh, it was easy enough. I just picked the correct moment, checked the deposits on the keys on the pad of the security doors, deduced the code and found the records. The 'lady', however, didn't exist, though, did she? It was a false membership forged on the day, but cleverly backdated. The complaint form said that the complainant was too distressed to speak with anyone and felt that maybe the threat would be carried out if she spoke with anyone. You also tampered with the trampoline and made such a fuss that Darren had to be sacked. Yet, Alex here hasn't been idle. Show her the documents, if you would?" Sherlock ordered Alex. From her holdall, she produced the photocopies of the signing in book from the pool.

"This proves that the allegation didn't take place. See for yourself," Alex told her, handing her the sheet. John was next to jump in.

"When you found that they were going to investigate the threat and undoubtedly find this evidence which would vindicate Mr Wallace, you came up with a solution within minutes. You pulled the trampoline hinge out of the lock and got the man sacked so quickly that they would not follow up the threat allegation and sack your boyfriend. Am I wrong?"

The former army doctor checked his deductions with Sherlock with a sideways glance. His friend's mouth stretched slightly to corroborate with his conclusion.

Roisin didn't answer. She didn't need to. She had been found out and was sobbing silently on Chris' shoulder.

Alex looked over at Darren, whose eyes were swimming with tears. He was permitted to speak next.

"I'm sorry for what happened to your sister, Roisin. Really, I am. I've never stopped loving her, but your family didn't let me go near her after that… night."

"Too right! You nearly killed her!"

"No. That's not what happened. I can tell you about it now if you'll let me. I would appreciate the chance to explain. I wasn't given the chance before. Please?"

His request was poignant and genuine. Alex looked at Roisin to implore her to allow him the opportunity to tell her.

"Whatever he'll say will be bullshit, I guarantee it."

"Shh, Rosh," Chris said soothingly, stroking his girlfriend's hair. "Let him speak, please."

All the people in the room turned to Darren to hear what he had to say.

"I went to the party, yes. And, yes, I have a criminal record. But I didn't know that drugs were being taken at that party. I admit it was silly of me to think that, but I had been told by my mate that there were definitely no drugs. I was clean at that point and, as far as I know, so was Sinead. It had only been weeks, mind. Easy to fall back into an addiction at the beginning. I had just left Sinead alone for five minutes when I went to speak with a guy I hadn't seen since we were kids. I lost track of time 'cause we were speaking about our childhood. Next thing I know, someone is panicking, saying that a girl had overdosed. Sinead was on the bathroom floor, unconscious. Paramedics were there within minutes and she was taken to hospital. I don't know who gave her the drugs. I swear, that is the truth. And I _promise_ that I didn't cheat on her, Roisin. Not once. The girls who told you that I had were stirring it. Maybe because they were at the party, too, and wanted to paint me a villain because they assumed I gave her the drugs. I know that I can't prove it, but I give you my word that all I say is true."

The usually inarticulate Darren was so sincere in his speech that it was hard not to believe him. Roisin's jaw was tense and she had been shaking her head throughout his speech.

"You're lying! You selfish, lying –"

"Roisin!" Sherlock yelled, approaching her. "Do you know who I am? I can deduce a liar miles off from just one word of a false story. He speaks the truth, and you will do well to heed what he has just disclosed. You have done him a wrong and you owe him an apology."

Roisin was shocked at what Sherlock had said. She obviously knew of the genius of Sherlock Holmes and his ability to find the truth in masses of lies, but she was sceptical still. It would take time and thinking to realise that Darren had nothing but the best intentions for Sinead McDuff. An apology was too much to ask for at this point. Roisin stared at the floor and continued to sob and shake her head.

Sherlock turned his head to face Alex and he flashed a glance to John. Earlier that day, he had instructed them that Chris's duty manager be present also, but to hide him in Alex's room. He had been in there for a long time and had heard all he needed.

"Hello, Chris. Roisin," Carl greeted as he entered the living room. "I've heard all I need to know."

"Carl! What the hell are you doing here?" Chris interjected, springing to his feet, panic written all over his face. Roisin, too, leapt to her feet. Darren was the most shocked person in the room, but his surprised face soon turned to a happy one as soon as he realised that his name had been cleared.

"Thank you for your help, Mr Holmes and Doctor Watson. You do know, Miss Price, that I could inform the police of your 'undercover operation' but, given the honourable intentions of your expedition, I will overlook it. Thank you for your help all the same." He shook Alex's hand, and then turned to Roisin and Chris. "Roisin, you are hereby suspended from the centre for six months."

"Six months?" she repeated.

"Yes. I won't ban you permanently, given your previous record at the centre, but one more incident and you will no longer exercise at the facility. Chris, I realise you acted under duress; however, you nonetheless falsified evidence against a colleague. You will be issued with a final written warning and within a period of a rolling year from now, if anything else occurs, you will be dismissed immediately. This will be confirmed in writing tomorrow at 9am in my office. Do you both understand?"

They confirmed that they did and Carl Addams turned next to the man who had been wrongly accused.

"Darren, I am so sorry for what you have been put through. We will ensure that due care and vigilance is taken in the future. I will be happy to reinstate your position if you would like to accept?"

"Oh, yeah, definitely!"

"I hear that you want to become a sports instructor one day. Maybe we can make that happen. I'll have a word with the local college and the centre will foot the bill for the course fees. I'll also provide you with a month's salary by cheque tomorrow. I hope that suffices for the inconvenience caused?"

Darren was overwhelmed and ecstatic in the throes of his vindication. He warmly accepted Carl's offer and after thanking Sherlock, John and Alex, the four guests departed.

Later that evening, John got a chance to catch up with his friend, and Alex paid a visit to Molly. She hadn't seen her best friend since the incident with Irene at Christmas as Molly couldn't get the time off work to come to her book launch.

The tour was due to start soon and Molly had agreed to look after Mitzie as Mrs Hudson wasn't able to do so for the full month.

"I'm sure she'll be okay with Toby. He's good with my neighbours' cats when he goes out into the garden, so it should be all right with Mitzie."

They were watching a Derren Brown programme and had stopped talking about their cats for a while when Alex's phone chimed to let her know that a text had arrived. The message made her smile as she read the words and even further into the meaning.

_Congratulations on your book. Good work today, thank you. - SH_


	42. Deductions On A Train

**Ten points if you can spot the Silver Blaze reference – twenty for the Casebook reference!**

"Will you be my Valentine?"

"What?" Alex whipped her head around to see who had spoken.

"Will you, pretty lady, be my Valentine?"

The stranger was about thirty, with ginger hair and eyes that looked like they hadn't closed in a week. He had a fake rose in his hand and was eyeing Alex hopefully, flicking his eyes up and down her body. Alex made a face and declined his request, turning her head to stare once again out of the train window.

"Oh, come on! It's Valentine's Day, you're gorgeous. Why not?"

Alex hated attention from men and almost involuntarily reacted defensively. She turned back to face him, rolling her eyes.

"Look, mate, I'm not interested."

"Yeah, you are!"

"Go away!"

"Not until you give me a kiss!" The man closed his eyes and squeezed his lips together in a feeble attempt at looking remotely adorable. Alex, who wrinkled her nose at such a sight, had never witnessed a less inviting offer for a kiss. She doubted that even a heterosexual woman would find his approach a fraction attractive. Only one answer would tell the man exactly how appealing he was.

"Fuck off!"

The man jolted, returned his mouth to a normal state and gawked at her with wide, puzzled eyes. His expression quickly turned to disgust.

"What's your problem? I only want you to be my Valentine!"

_Oh, Jesus Christ._

"Listen, I'm g…"

"She's with me!" another man called out from the seat behind Alex. She sprang up to see who had spoken. The man who had been flirting 'at' her stood up straight and glared at the other man as if to challenge him.

Her mouth fell open as she saw that the man who had been sat behind her was none other than Sherlock Holmes.

"'Oo the fuck are you?" the ginger-haired man asked, brandishing the rose as if it was a sword.

"Sherlock Holmes; and I'd thank you to mind your language around the lady." He moved towards the startled man with the rose in his hand with an authentic demeanour. "I believe that she has already made her feelings on the matter known and you will do well to respect her wishes," the detective said curtly, rounding on the man with a fearless stare, whose ever-increasing shaking gave away the certainty that he had realised to whom he was speaking. There was no way that this new victim of Sherlock's inconceivably superior intelligence would be permitted access to his seat without being on the receiving end of a deduction that would knock his socks off.

"Wh - what are you…?" he stuttered.

"You've separated with your wife of five or so years within the last three months and had seven – no eight – lovers, some simultaneously. The blood vessels in your eyes and the aroma of alcohol on your breath show that you drink more cans of beer in a day than a man is supposed to handle in a week. You should really see a doctor as your blood pressure is rather high, I'd say one-seventy, to one-ninety over ninety to one-ten, and the possibility of liver damage is more than probable. You use cheap soap, not shampoo, to wash your hair and you use very old razors, showing that you cannot even afford to buy new blades – the bluntness of a razor on your face is obvious in the uneven regrowth. The rose was stolen from a woman at the last stop before you boarded the train and it is clear to me that you were certainly hoping for more than just one kiss from my friend, here. As much as I'd love to go on and, believe me, I would have no qualms divulging your bathroom and bedroom habits in the presence of the other passengers of this train; I will say _this_ to you in confidence…"

Sherlock dipped his head to the man's ear, the opposite side of Alex so she couldn't even lip read, let alone hear over the low drone of the train.

With half of Sherlock's profile obscured, the man's face went from confused to shocked to anxious in three seconds. What Sherlock had deduced was not obvious. Sherlock nodded at him and he nodded back. Turning to his side, with his hands behind his back, Sherlock allowed the man access to his seat at the other end of the carriage. He then looked Alex in the eye, who couldn't help the smile on her face. He grinned back and approached the seat opposite her.

"My God. What are you doing here?" Alex said. They shook hands warmly before assuming their seats.

"Oh, I just thought I'd go to Salisbury for the day, and now I'm coming back." His familiar smirk said that he was aware that she could see through it. Alex knew that he loved to see her figure him out, for he made no secret of the fact that the way her mind worked fascinated him.

"No, you didn't. You've been following me, haven't you?"

"Maybe."

"For how long?"

"Since you left Clapham Junction this morning to go to Salisbury. I knew that it was the last leg of your tour and I decided to pay a visit to the event. You read rather well today but stage fright was evident in the shaking of your voice, particularly on the vowels E and A..."

"All right, all right! I _know _how nervous I was, thank you for pointing it out. Hold on, what do you mean this morning? Have you been following me on my other tour journeys? I didn't see you at the reading..." Alex didn't need to know how he could hide in plain sight. Sherlock Holmes was a master of disguise as well as of deduction. "Why _did_ you follow me?"

"Why not?" he answered with an innocent shrug of his shoulders.

"Because it's… weird. Plus, why would you want to follow me around? John's told me that you follow him sometimes." Alex rubbed her head with her thumb, contemplating the fact that Sherlock had a habit of stalking those he was close to.

"How else am I supposed to know what you both get up to?" the detective retorted as if it was blatantly obvious. "Moriarty has kidnapped you and John before, so I keep an eye on you when I can, or Mycroft or the Homeless Network does. Their eyes keep watch when mine cannot. It also helps with cases."

If Alex didn't know better, despite the creepiness to Sherlock's way of keeping tabs on his friends, it was somehow kindly and affectionate and she was touched by his intent. John meant a lot to Sherlock, even though he had questionable and odd ways of showing it.

_Another demonstrative explanation as to why this man is definitely not a sociopath,_ Alex thought.

"Did you put surveillance on me before the tour?"

"Yes, since your meeting with Moriarty on Bonfire Night, in fact. Although not round the clock, I'll admit."

"Why have you been stalking me today?" she enquired. It was several seconds, and a deep breath later, when Sherlock answered her.

"Stalking? I haven't been stalking you! That's what perverted criminals do, Alex. No, no, no; I received intelligence that you could have been targeted again. No, don't worry. Just for information on me. They would have attempted to steal your phone and possessions when you were on the train to Salisbury if I hadn't stopped them."

"What?!"

"Relax!" Sherlock said in a deep whisper, assuming the baritone rasp that put a spell on whoever was on the receiving end of it. "I found them and stopped them."

"How?"

"Never you mind. You're safe – that's all you need to know"

"Okay. Thank you, Sherlock, but now that you have rumbled them so efficiently and surreptitiously, did you ever think that they will try at another opportunity, one where I might not have the benefit of having you as my chaperone?"

"Yes, but you needn't worry."

"Needn't worry?" Alex repeated.

"Yes!" he soothed, "they know that I am on to them, now, and would most likely write you off their hit list. They may try and target me directly but in stealth. Some of them underestimate me. Idiots."

Alex was still trying to get her head around it. As much as she trusted Sherlock, she wasn't sure that, with this new information, she was completely safe, and she also feared for Sherlock's safety. If anyone could get out of a situation, Sherlock could. However, he wasn't invincible and his methods of deduction, whilst unyielding, were not wholly infallible. It unnerved her, to put it mildly, that she was not out of the danger she was in. The meeting with Moriarty was still raw and she still had to deal with it, as well as the on-going struggle with depression.

Sherlock's way of showing support was to coax a ribbon of intellect from her imaginative brain by giving her puzzles and cases to solve. It was irritating to an extent but she appreciated it. Especially when Mrs Hudson's offer of support came in copious amounts of cake and cuddles.

"What if you're wrong? What if they try again, and what if they harm you, John, or Mrs Huds…?"

"Shush, calm down. I won't keep telling you!" Alex was taken aback from his verbal reprimand. For all his attributes, he never really assumed the 'grown-up' role. For once, Alex listened to him and did as she was told without displaying an attitude problem. He returned to his previous subject. "They would be stupid to try anything again, at least by following you. Mark my words, everything's fine. We just need to get home and wait for the next case. Bring it on!" He leant back in the seat with his hands behind his head as he sighed out the last three words. The old devil called 'boredom' was lurking somewhere and Alex half-hoped that some sort of commotion would occur on the train before Sherlock started deducing the sex lives of the passengers.

Alex sighed too, slumping back into the train seat. They were both silent for several minutes, with Sherlock busy typing, impossibly fast, on his iPhone.

A ringing noise rudely interrupted his task, which was rewarded with a formidable roll of his eyes before he answered the call.

Alex was not a nosy person by nature and, blocking out his voice, stared out of the train window, witnessing the world streak past as if her surroundings were part of a painting that had been brushed with streaks of water. The effect captivated and intrigued her, and she pondered about doing a watercolour painting of a train journey at some point.

Just as her imagination trailed off, warping the train into a tunnel with lanterns and a Minotaur-like being at one end, Sherlock disrupted the manifestation by speaking to her in his annoying, yet beautiful, velvet tone.

"Alex, will you accept the task of assisting me on a case?"

He held her eyes in a long stare until the words sunk into her head, which was still recovering from the forcible transference from fantasy to reality. The dreaded eye roll was imminent and, to prevent it, she snapped out of her trance and quickly leant forward.

"Sorry, Sherlock? You – you want _my_ help? Erm, I would usually say yes but I've not been home in a month and need a day or two to settle back in, so I don't –"

"It's not until tomorrow evening," he chimed rudely. "I'll be happy to talk you through the requirements in the morning. You'll have plenty of time to... _settle in_." Sherlock said it as if 'settling in' was as pointless as soap-watching when there were cases to solve or experiments to orchestrate.

"Can't John help you? He texted me yesterday and said that Laura had dumped him, so he'd probably be up for a nice, juicy case."

"Yes, I'm sure he would. Who was Laura?"

"They met a couple of weeks ago. She's been to Baker Street six times, so John told me. I've never met her but I've seen a photo."

"Was she the one with the head lice?" Sherlock asked. He genuinely looked puzzled but Alex couldn't help but laugh.

"No! That was a client and only John got them. Glad I wasn't there for it."

Sherlock looked deep in thought for a few seconds before responding.

"Ah, yes. The woman, whose son had been away for a few weeks, wondered if he had committed a felony in that time. Yes, John was rather grateful for me letting him sample my homebrewed head-lice-killing solution." Sherlock looked rather triumphant.

"No," Alex corrected him. She had been in regular contact with John and was probably more clued up than the consulting detective about the recent happenings at 221b Baker Street, even though she had been away for a month. "It made his head itch like crazy, more so than the lice! He tried telling you but you wouldn't listen. He resorted to bathing his head in milk, which seemed to work."

He stared at her perplexed and a little deflated. One thing Sherlock Holmes hated was things that he didn't notice and having someone else tell him so.

"Laura was the artist," Alex said after a few minutes.

"Ah! That explains the hideous squashed tulip painting in John's room."

"Since when have you had cause to go into his room?"

"Since he moved in just over a year ago! There's no order to his clothes, least of all his ties. I arranged them perfectly and he still insists of throwing them in his drawer any old how. The man has no sense of organisation."

"Says the man who leaves piles of paper and books strewn all over the floor rather than in filing cabinets where he can find the relevant case files under reference tabs," Alex quipped.

"I have copies on my laptop, two hard drives and –"

"It doesn't mean that you can't organise the files, like you so _kindly_ did with John's ties." Alex was smirking now and relished in her delight that her own stubborn wit could rival the consulting detective's quick brilliance.

"John doesn't see it as a kind gesture at all. He rearranges them every time I sort them and then slaps me on the wrist!"

"Well, you do seem to not quite understand the difference between what people see as helpful gestures and interference."

Sherlock looked at her with curiosity written all over his face. His perfectly sculpted cheekbones seemed more prominent than ever and the squint in his eyes looked almost cute.

"Sherlock, honey, you're a genius. You know that, we all know that. You're highly intelligent and that brain of yours is both admirable and enviable. Still, there are certain areas of knowing and understanding aspects of life that you are _very_ naïve about and rather ignorant. Sorry to use that word, but it's true. We can't all be good at everything."

"I can," Sherlock returned.

"No. Don't try to be perfect, because there's no such thing. Perfect is boring."

Sherlock smiled at this statement. If Alex didn't know any better, it was an appreciative beam and seemed to agree with her comment. Alex knew that the detective fully understood that if everyone was perfect, the world would be a completely boring place.

"So, Alex, _honey_, how should I have dealt with the tie situation?"

"You should have left them alone! Believe me; John will appreciate it more if you just left his room alone. No, don't interrupt! What's his is his, not yours. If you want to do something for him, and for him to be grateful, make him a cup of tea. Or dinner, or just... something. I don't know. Selfless, I suppose. Just don't interfere with his private life."

"Okay, fine. I'll leave his clothes alone. But when he shaves with a blunt razor, it's so obvious, using the same deductions I made earlier about that man over there..."

"Sherlock! Leave. John's. Things. Alone!" Alex said in a slightly more serious tone than she had used earlier, although she was still in 'banter mode.'

"Fine, but if I deem it to be important, I will take liberties with John when I please. He doesn't mind if it's important."

"At your own risk, Sherlock. I hope you haven't touched any of my stuff. Or my cat."

"Don't worry; I've not touched your personal effects, or your cat. Well, I took a sample of its fur for my collection the day that I slept on your sofa bed. Is that okay?"

"Yes, that's fine. Just don't harm her."

"Would I ever do that?" he asked mockingly.

"I wouldn't put it past you," Alex retorted. She decided to stop before the conversation became an argument. The prospect of participating in a case had been festering and she found that it was time to change the subject and ask him for some information.

"I told you, I'll walk you through it tomorrow morning."

"Sherlock, please tell me something at least. I want to know what I will be dealing with. Please?" She tried to give him the 'cherry on top' grin, yet there was no way someone could manipulate a man who was such an expert in the art himself. Still, Sherlock relented eventually, as he would never go a long time without talking about work.

"There is a woman who works in a bar in Kensington for five evenings a week, and the manager believes she has given a false name and references for her previous job. He recognises her face from somewhere, although he doesn't know where, but he thinks that she may have been in trouble with the law before, or been dismissed for criminal activities at two previous workplaces. I need you to visit the bar, talk to her, and find out what you can."

Alex was immediately incredulous about her job for the case.

"Why can't you do that? Or your Homeless Network?"

"Because she's gay. She doesn't trust many people or open up to anyone."

"Okay. So what makes you think she will trust me?"

"You can at least try your best. Flirt with her, work your charms, do whatever you can to gather information."

"What if she doesn't like me? What if I fail?" Alex asked, feeling rather nervous already.

"Then we will have to try a different approach. I have been to the pub, talked with her and been able to deduce the necessary aspects of her life and personality, but more needs to be done, and you, Alexandra Price, are just the woman for the job."

Alex thought about it for a few minutes. The idea of going undercover again was scary, yet exciting. However, this involved something she enjoyed doing, although she would have to focus on finding the information that was needed. A thought then occurred to her, which she was rather apprehensive to ask.

"Sherlock? Um, how far will I... you know, have to go?"

"Not far, you just have to get onto the westbound circle line..."

"No, no, no! With her. Will I need to, you know..." Alex was rather embarrassed to say what she meant. Sherlock just eyed her critically for a few seconds before he understood.

"Oh. If it gets the results, yes. But one thing you must remember. _Don't fall for her._ If she is who her employer thinks she is, she will be gone from your life. Do not let sentiment cloud your judgement."

Little before had the detective been so sincere and showed his caring side. Alex liked it when his true self would peer out of the windows of his well-built fortress and it made the rare occasions even more precious. She returned sharply to her senses when she realised what her friend was getting at.

"Don't worry. I don't have a whole heart to give so I can assure you that I will not be falling for her."


	43. Project Musgrave

After a beautiful chicken casserole at Molly's, half a brick-sized portion of marble cake (which was becoming rather typical and cumbersome) with Mrs Hudson, and cuddling and playing with Mitzie, it was easy for Alex to forget about the case that Sherlock had in store for her. He had specifically requested that she don something 'feminine' and 'appealing' before meeting up with the mark.

John had volunteered to go undercover in the operation, but once Sherlock sprung it on his flatmate that the woman was a lesbian, he was demonstrably rather despondent. Alex noticed this when she saw John sitting in his red armchair browsing the papers, which seemed absurd as he would normally do it in the morning. From the direction his eyes were following, he wasn't reading at all. He was just flicking his eyes over each page for anything at all to draw his focus.

Normally, Alex enjoyed working with the boys on their cases. On this occasion, however, her immaculately made-up face fell when she saw who else was in the living room of 221b. Donovan.

Lestrade was there, too, but Donovan's evil smile cancelled out any positive ions in the air.

"Sherlock, I thought that this was a private investigation?" Alex asked, still in the doorway.

"No, if you had been listening to my conversation on the phone with Lestrade yesterday, you would know that this is, in fact, a criminal investigation."

The DI approached Alex and shook her hand warmly, flitting his eyes up and down her slim figure, noticing that she was wearing items of clothing very different to her normal attire.

"Hi, Alex. It's nice to see you in a dress for a change."

Alex wasn't sure whether to take this as a compliment – it seemed rather backhanded. Donovan sniggered and Alex shot her a condemning look.

"It's a long top, Lestrade. I wouldn't be seen dead in a dress, nor would I wear tights, which is why I have opted for leggings and high boots."

Lestrade gave her another 'check over', whilst Donovan continued to smile devilishly. Something else then occurred to Alex.

"Guys, if this is a 'criminal investigation,' then why isn't some gay police officer doing it?"

"Because..." Sherlock began. It was almost gratifying to see him lost for words and have to ask someone else to complete his sentence. He looked pointedly at Lestrade.

"Because, Alex, there are a few officers whom we could ask, but none were... um... suitable, or available. Plus, Sherlock insisted on it being you."

"Why?"

"Never mind that!" Sherlock interjected, jumping up from his chair at the desk. "Alex, take a seat, there are a few things that we need to go through. See this photo? That's who her employer thinks she is; Carina Musgrave. A well-known member of a criminal gang back in the mid-nineties, connected with the death of a police officer. She looks a little different now and, when I went to the pub she works at, in disguise of course, she certainly looked like the eighteen year old in the photo. Except there was not enough for me to make a positive ID. This photograph is the only one that exists of her at all and, as you can see, it is not very clear."

This information confused Alex. If anyone would be able to identify this woman, it would be Sherlock. What was he enlisting her help for? And what evidence did the employer have for thinking that his barmaid was this missing thief and possible murderer? She asked Sherlock the purpose of her expedition.

"Carina hasn't been seen, apparently, since 1998 when all three of her gang members were arrested. She escaped and they received life sentences for murder, theft, kidnapping; you name it. The fact that two of the three have died since, and the third one has refused to co-operate, has left us in a position where... deep, and possibly intimate, investigation is required."

"Okay," Alex stammered. "But how come her boss thinks that his barmaid is this criminal? What evidence does he have and what am I looking for?"

"Tattoos," Donovan chimed in, grinning like she was asking for a smack in the mouth. "She would have a distinguishing mark. She may have a few piercings in some, err... hidden place. But, I'm sure you'll have no problems finding them, will you, Alex? You know where to, um, _look_, don't you?"

Those snarky words were enough to reignite the old flame of contempt that the two woman shared months ago, placated by the settlement of their fight. Alex gritted her teeth and rose from her seat to approach Sally Donovan.

"Remember, Sally?" Alex showed the faint silver scars on her knuckles, obscured by her torso so that the sergeant's superior would not see. Donovan's eyes flicked down to them for a nanosecond and she then looked back into her enemy's face. Those two words had the desired effect and Alex revelled in the notion that Donovan's complacency had been wiped from her face.

"Girls! Enough! Donovan, you're here as a sergeant today, not as a woman with a grudge. Alex, please sit down so we can go through this," Lestrade instructed. Alex did as she was asked and sighed as she recalled Donovan's reply to her question.

"She could have had them removed. It's hard to tell what tattoos she had if she has had laser treatment, and scars from piercings can be easily disguised, especially if they're in _certain_ areas."

"Yes, that is true," Sherlock mused. "However, there may be some other links to her alleged past. Her boss has an inclination, as he found that the name she gave was false. She had given the name Katherine Parker, but the references have evidence of being faked and the previous addresses she gave have no record of her living there. When he found her talking on the pub phone, she sounded anxious. He did not hear the person at the end of the phone use her name, but she had categorically said these words: 'Mike, you know I don't go by that name anymore. I don't use yours; please do not use what used to be mine.' It is possible that this 'Mike' is the man in prison, Stuart Gilchrist, but his phone calls have been monitored, and no call to or from the pub has been picked up. His cell was given a thorough spin and no mobile phone was found, or in any other cells for that matter. However, this does not mean that it wasn't Gilchrist, and at the same time it doesn't mean that it was..."

"Yeah, but why does the landlord think that 'Katherine Parker' is Carina Musgrave?"

"There's more," Sherlock continued. "Carina was originally from Hull – Katherine claims to be a Londoner, born and bred. She speaks with a typical central London accent, but at a number of occasions, her employer has heard the odd Hull vowel being dropped into conversations, mostly when chatting to customer, particularly women. Add that to the fact that there was a rumour that Carina was gay, and Katherine is too, there is no background we can find to Katherine Parker, the employer made a conjecture that his top barmaid is, in fact, the wanted criminal Carina Musgrave. He had read about her and, when comparing the two photographs, it's clear that it is not impossible that Miss Parker _is_ Miss Musgrave. You, my dear friend Alex, must make her like you, trust you, and, if possible, _feel_ for you. Enough to let her façade fall, or even better, for her to confess her past. It may take some time, I admit. You must adopt the alias you did with the Darren Wallace case – Alex Phillips. You must call and text her on this phone only," – Sherlock handed her a large, shiny pink Nokia – "and the address you must give, plus details of your current and past life are on this sheet of paper that I must ask that you study before Lestrade drives you to the location."

Taking the sheet from Sherlock, Alex felt the first bout of nerves kick in. What if she was unsuccessful? What if her efforts were fruitless?

"Do your best, that's all we ask, Alex," Lestrade said, placing his hand on her shoulder. He had read in her face and tense shoulders that she was apprehensive and doubting herself before she had even started.

"Remember to appear keen, but not desperate. Smile, but not too much, catch her eye and flirt openly, although reservation is quite often an opening invitation to..."

"Sherlock!" Alex interrupted, rousing John from his non-reading trance. "I get that you know the theory of how to attract a mate, thank you for your well-meant tips. Please do not forget that I am rather familiar with putting it into practice. I _will_ do my best, I promise that, but I can't promise that my mission will be successful."

The room was perfectly silent, apart from the occasional tapping of Donovan's foot and sigh from Sherlock – both becoming bored – whilst Alex studied Sherlock's requirements. The backstory was that she was Alex Phillips, a counsellor, originally from South London who lived in Kensington, enjoyed mysteries (that part was true), fun, adventurous and had a Rottweiler named Willoughby. The rest was up to Alex, provided she did not reveal her true identity or allude to her lifestyle. The advantage was that Alex had not changed any of her online profile pictures since she had dyed her hair and she had also lost weight on her book tour, so her face looked a little different. If Katherine/Carina visited the website, a clever woman like her would be able to suss out who her new 'admirer' was. Alex skimmed the requirements of her character again.

"Bloody hell! This sounds like an advert in the singles column!"

The detective sprang up from his seat with several newspapers in hand as if he had found a map to a long lost treasure. Alex winced as he waved them right in front of her face.

"If you ever get any free time from story writing, Alex, this goes for you too, Inspector, always read the problem pages and singles columns. Health issues, romance problems, what people want to eradicate from their lives, things they want to bring into their lives – it's all in this sensational literature. When I went to the pub to study her, I got a sense of her personality and what she would find attractive. I heard her say that she loves dogs, big ones, being a former member of a gang she would be smart and logical, meaning that a woman with a creative and illogical mind would be rather attractive to her."

"Okay, okay, Sherlock. I get it. One thing I should say is that as much as I love working with you and helping to fight crime, I don't want to make a habit of this 'undercover' stuff and to be honest, I have my reservations about this project."

"I never doubted that you would, naturally," Sherlock commented before Alex resumed her speech.

"Sherlock, you _do_ realise that if she works out what I am there for, my safety could be at risk? Yours and John's, too. I'd hate for them to harm Mrs Hudson or my Mitzie..." Alex was getting herself into an emotional state thinking about the implications of having her cover blown. Sherlock was a clever man and she would have the backup of the police as well as John's brave compulsion to protect innocent people, but the prospect her coming out of this operation and being able to return to regular life without any threat was not entirely improbable.

All the men in the room were staring at Alex with 'hope' written on their expressions. Alex had every right to back out and whilst this would be a respected decision if taken, the nagging feeling of impending disappointment from Sherlock was tugging her the other way. However, this was nothing compared to the disappointment she would feel about herself if she did not at least accept the challenge, even if she didn't succeed. Taking a deep breath, she gave her answer.

"Okay. I accept, but I expect full support of the police, Lestrade."

"You have that. All of it," the DI answered, driving home his promise with the certainty in his demeanour.

"I will help you to the best of my ability, Alex. Any sign of trouble, I will text you 'hi, Alex, how are you?'" Sherlock used his finger to illustrate the letters, which made Alex giggle. "It's logical that I can't text you anything that could land you in trouble!" he said in defence.

"Every time you visit the pub, every time you see her, either me or one of the officers at the yard will be nearby in an unmarked police car, and they will also be able to contact you with this phone." Lestrade said, moving towards her and suggestively checking his watch.

Alex took it that it was time to leave and she went with Lestrade, Sherlock and John to Kensington. Lestrade stopped two streets away and gave her directions to the pub. He had also advised that it was best that Alex was wired so that any conversations she had with Katherine/Carina would be heard by the three men. This was to be the first and only scheduled time that all three investigators would accompany her. At any other time, Alex would have just a police officer with her, or even Sherlock and John.. Sherlock had also employed one of his Homeless Network members, Stephen Lander, to take a few pictures of his Rottweiler, Willoughby, and he had agreed that, if necessary, Alex could take the dog if she ever agreed to Katherine/Carina meeting him.

"Remember the code, Alex," Sherlock told her with warning in his tone.

"Yep. All clear, just report what I see, note everything that could suggest her identity, blah, blah, blah..." she answered with a bit more attitude than was necessary. She fiddled with the microphone that was annoyingly refusing to stay clipped to her bra. The wire was very uncomfortable and she shuffled in her seat, silently cursing her agreement to this potentially dangerous undercover operation.

"Alex, watch your tone!" John reprimanded. "Remember everything we have told you and try your hardest not to reveal who you really are."

Finally giving up her battle with the clip on the microphone, for it was as secured as fast as it could have been anyway, Alex's brain snapped and, for the first time that day, she felt a wave of responsibility and confidence. She opened her eyes wide and looked at the three men in the car in turn, last of all at Sherlock. His features were soft and sincere and, with a small nod, Alex exited Lestrade's car with a final look to her colleagues and made her way to the bar.

Rock music coming from an impressive sound system could be heard a road away and once she was standing on the street opposite, her nerves started to kick in again.

The building was mostly white, yet it had shiny metal letters showing the name 'The Silver Blaze' mounted on a large purple band, embellished with golden speckles. Four motorbikes were parked outside and large male punter, heavily tattooed, had just exited the building.

"I'm going in," Alex told her friends and, stepping over the threshold at exactly eight-thirty on a Friday night, she entered The Silver Blaze pub.

The smell of alcohol penetrated her senses and made her head swoon a little. A mixture of traditional wooden beams and a large fireplace with comfortable arm chairs had been skilfully amalgamated with a modern chrome plated bar, pumps and seven red cushion-covered stools that were irregularly placed. Half of the tables were occupied and three of the seven stools were sat on.

It was truly an inviting place but Alex could only absorb the social atmosphere and impressive architecture for a moment, for another occupant of the room had instantly grabbed her attention. There was no need to search for what she was looking for or engage her brain to carry out the task that she had been instructed to do. Suddenly, her mission began to appeal to her all the more.

Standing behind the bar, pulling half a pint of Guinness for one of the customers was a tall, slim woman of about thirty-five. From her attractive and striking features, as well as the short choppy bob, it wasn't difficult to know that this was none other than Katherine Parker, who could possibly be Carina Musgrave. Alex had spent the day absent-mindedly going over paper cuttings and archived information on the net about the criminal this barmaid was alleged to be.

The arrival of a pretty young woman at The Silver Blaze had also gripped the attention of the lady behind the bar, whose brown eyes flicked over to Alex and instantly 'scanned' her. A smile slowly spread over her face before she switched her focus back to the half-pint, which had spilled over and was coating her fingers and trickling down her wrists.

Alex watched in fascination. Those long, slender fingers flicked the moisture away and carefully gripped the glass before setting it down. Alex had to tear her eyes away before she got too transfixed and, noticing that another arriving customer had made her aware that her presence had essentially blocked the doorway, she stepped slowly towards the bar, barely feeling her boots touch the ground. Her heart was beating as fast as it would during a sprint down Baker Street. Her fingers trembled as she touched the edge of the bar.

It was as if the world's speed had halved. Katherine served one more customer before approaching Alex, which seemed to take an age.

"Hello, love, what can I get ya?"

That voice; strong and assertive; it latched itself onto Alex's heart, speeding up its rhythm. Conscious of her friends overhearing the start of the conversation and not wanting to sound weak (Sherlock saw situations in which someone allows feelings to get in the way of their logical reasoning as weak and paralysing), Alex ignored the blushing of her cheeks and ordered a diet coke.

Sherlock's voice then seemed to enter her head and told her to concentrate. Alex wanted to, she wanted to _so_ much, yet it was proving difficult to listen to the consulting detective's advice.

Katherine's arms were covered by long sleeves of a tight, white top and her lower half by very skinny jeans. Her lithe fingers had entwined themselves in the bars of the pumps, showing a few rings, a black, leather woven bracelet and a scar on the right thumb knuckle.

"Coming right up, love."

Two sides were battling inside Alex's head: one telling her to focus and be rational, and the other was instinctively drawing her towards this woman in every way that was possible.

Her task was to get close to Katherine to find out more and be prepared to go all the way, in every sense and, in that moment, when she once again saw her 'mark' giving a coy smile, Alex knew that this part of 'Project Musgrave' would be easy.


	44. The Silver Blaze

**Hey reader - I'm on tumblr! Eryberrie, of course. There's fan art for this fic coming up soon. Thanks to my beta, Holly, and a big hello to my long lost penpal Anna with whom I am back in contact!**

"So," Katherine said after a few new customers had been served and the bar no longer beheld punters waiting for drinks, "it's your first time here, yeah? Why did you come here on your own?"

Alex blushed and dropped her eyes. She was still beaming without any conscious effort to stop it.

"I go everywhere on my own. Some friends recommended this place but I think that if I check out somewhere alone, I can decide whether to leave if I don't like it."

"Mmm, fair enough. Do you like it so far?" Katherine was leaning on the bar now, braced on her elbows with her white top lowering a little. It seemed like a deliberate attempt to gauge the other woman's attention but it was not really necessary. Bit by bit, Katherine moved her face closer to Alex's, who tore her gaze from the alluring view just under the neck of her top to explore the grinning face that was only inches from hers. Almost unconsciously, Alex leaned in, feeling the curved edge of the bar press her ribs. Katherine's eyes dropped, mirroring the attention Alex had given her seconds before.

Alex let her stare linger longer than necessary on Katherine's pink full lips and perfect teeth. The fact that the woman was in her mid-thirties was evident in the very fine lines that spread from the edges of her eyes, meeting her sharp cheekbones, as well as small crescent shaped lines in the corners of her mouth when she smiled.

Her eyes were dark green and shone like the shiniest emeralds Alex had ever seen and the iris was enclosed in a black circle. Alex hadn't realised at that moment that she hadn't answered Katherine's question, given that she was too mesmerised to focus. Katherine tilted her head as she silently tried to repeat her question to the new face at the bar. Alex snapped back into reality to answer in the affirmative and to say that she was liking it more by the second.

"How long have you worked here?" Alex asked, sounding shyer than she intended. Her cheeks flushed more when Katherine mirrored her coy smile.

"Just a month. Are you from London originally? You sound Kentish."

"I moved to London nearly a year ago."

"How are you finding it?"

"Manic! Work is good, though. I'm still getting used to the craziness of city life. I brought my dog with me so it's not all bad." _So far so good_, Alex thought. She was rather surprised at how easy it was telling an untruth. Still, it was foolish to underestimate Katherine. Her confidence increased when Katherine immediately showed interest.

"What sort of dog have you got?"

"Rottweiler. His name's Willoughby, want to see his picture?"

She showed Katherine the picture on her pink phone, a photo that Sherlock had taken the day before.

A moment passed where they looked at one another, each expecting the other to continue the conversation. In a typically awkward moment, both began to speak at the same time. Alex giggled like a teenage girl who had just tripped over in front of her school. Alex tried her hardest to stop her face from burning red. In the end she relented, realising that it was useless trying to fight an involuntary reaction. Katherine's skin was almost glowing, standing out against the room. Her eyes were seducing Alex just by being open and locked on her. Alex's eyes wandered again and this time, Katherine noticed. She dipped her head to catch Alex's gaze.

The conversation that ensued was flirtatious, yet tentative. Alex still didn't know if Katherine was interested enough to trust her or agree to a date. A few 'cheesy' questions escaped Alex's mouth before she could stop them and knowing that three men were listening to the conversation made her even more embarrassed. The case was pulling her one way but Katherine, the woman, was pulling her the other. At some point that evening, Alex was sure that if Katherine asked her to run away with her, she would have.

The bar became increasingly busy, causing Katherine to have to attend to the requirements of the punters rather than flirt with the young writer in disguise. Soon, the pub was so packed that it was too noisy to hear anything. Alex thought it was time to find a quiet spot to sit and report what she could to her friends before she forgot. The venue was big and crowded enough to disguise her voice.

Taking a seat at a small table in the corner, she pulled out the pink phone. Yet she didn't make a call, she simply mimed making a call but instead spoke to her friends through the microphone. She was glad that she couldn't hear them. They were probably laughing at her.

"She's interested – I think. She's busy at the moment; the bar's full. She's got a crescent moon shaped scar on her knuckle, has a tattoo of an eye on her left thumb, excellent teeth – they look like veneers, heavy eye make-up, and I _swear_ she is wearing brown coloured contacts. Her hair is medium-brown but it appears dyed. I think her natural hair colour is either black or very dark. I don't think she recognises me, or suspects anything. I can't really see her for all the people. The corded bracelet must be at least twenty years old. She once had several earrings, or they were holes for lock-picks. Wearing a tight top, very tight, she must be a size eight and works hard to keep it that way. She's definitely got a London accent, not heard anything that resembles Hull so far, don't know if you have. I'll try and talk to her before last calls. She's looking my way now..."

Alex knew that she had to try everything to get the barmaid's attention; yet smiling seemed as natural as breathing once Katherine's face came in to view. She latched her eyes onto Katherine's and felt a jolt in her chest when her gesture was reciprocated. It was followed by a sinking feeling when the eyes quickly moved away and the grin became a frown before Katherine's form was completely blocked by two customers.

"No, false alarm," Alex muttered, despondency evident in her tone.

She pretended to end the call and resigned herself to sitting on her own at the table. A couple of times, Katherine ventured beyond the bar to collect glasses and each time Alex watched her, stealthily, but still trying to gain eye contact at least. A number of times, she succeeded. But mostly, Katherine seemed to just be interested in working, even harder than was necessary when the number of people at the bar diminished.

Half an hour had passed and there wasn't much time left. Taking a deep breath and preparing herself for possibly even more humiliation, Alex approached the bar, lifting her head and chest to feign self-confidence whilst grinning stupidly, trying her hardest to show her interest.

Katherine was on the other side of the bar, serving three very drunk-looking men. She appeared to be socialising in a very perfunctory manner. Alex knew that she wasn't appreciative of attention from the opposite sex, just as Alex wasn't.

It took over fifteen minutes before Katherine served Alex, who flinched as Katherine practically snatched the glass from her to refill without a word, a look, or a flicker of emotion.

The half-pint was slammed on the bar after being filled, causing it to swirl and spill slightly.

_What is this woman playing at_? Alex thought. _Why was she keen at first, but now looking at me like I'm not welcome_?

Katherine's face appeared blank but she was frowning as if Alex's presence offended her. Alex held the two pound coin out to Katherine's outstretched hand and, once again hearing Sherlock's voice, observed her with a keener eye.

The eyes were avoiding contact with hers, flicking and blinking more than necessary. Her left hand had an iron-hold grasp of the edge of the bar; her arm was tense and shaking slightly. The slight bulge in the 'horseshoe' of the triceps could be made out. The jaw was set as if the teeth were clenched together. Underneath the carefully applied make up, a small blush was evidently growing on Katherine's cheeks. She was _nervous_. Deliberately ignoring Alex and putting a wall up in front of her.

"Thanks," Katherine uttered under her breath before turning round to ring the drink through the till. Once she had done so, she kept her back to Alex. The writer stared for a minute, and then cursed herself for ogling while there was important work to do. Even though she knew the woman's name, she had not been formally introduced. Alex attempted to get her attention by throwing a few "excuse me"'s out there, but they fell on deaf ears. Once another punter required a drink, Katherine strode off in the punter's direction as if to be grateful for a distraction.

_Oh my God! Talk about playing hard to get! Or is she genuinely not interested?_

Disappointed and, in no small way, humiliated, Alex relented to the fact that she would not succeed at the task. Sherlock, John, Lestrade, and his friends at the Yard would have to take it on themselves and do what they could. After all, Alex was no detective. She agreed to help a friend by going undercover and although it had not had the desired effect, she didn't feel completely devastated.

However, on another level, she was feeling rather deflated. Katherine had not just been a 'mark' but had honestly intrigued her. Not only had she failed at a job, she had failed as a person.

Alex drained her Coke quicker than necessary, wincing as the ice-cold liquid slid down her throat, chilling her from the inside, but somehow it felt good to _feel_ something other than dejection.

Mimicking Katherine's move from earlier, Alex thumped the glass down on the bar with a clunk, finally engaging the object of her aim and desire's attention. After a second's eye contact, Alex frowned and marched out of the door of The Silver Blaze, bumping her shoulder on the large purple swinging door.

"I'm sorry guys, she's not interested. I'm coming back now."

The wind had died down but the air was rather chilly. She crossed the road to make her way back to the car and fumbled inside her top to disconnect the microphone so that it would not rub on her coat as she closed it but, before she could complete this task, a voice stopped her. A voice that commanded the recipient to stop in their tracks.

Alex halted and turned her head sharply. Just as she was about to prepare herself in case there was any kind of trouble, the owner of the voice came running towards her, disarming Alex's defensive stance instantly.

"Wait! I'm sorry, please don't leave," Katherine said as she caught up with Alex, panting a little.

Staring in disbelief, given the previous apparent rejection, Alex turned so she was facing Katherine completely. Instinctively, Alex scanned Katherine's body, not bothering to resist or hide her attraction.

"What? You…?" Alex stuttered, kicking herself for stumbling over her nerves.

"Don't worry!" Katherine laughed, "I didn't mean to ignore you, I just..."

"You what?" Alex asked playfully. She took a step closer, hoping for an absolution.

"I don't know. I just don't like to get too friendly with girls. Well, I _do_, but... I _really_ like you. I know we only spoke for a few minutes and when I saw that you were interested, everything in my being was saying no. But when you turned and left... I couldn't let you do that without... without asking your name."

It was such a cheesy – yet lustful – moment that Alex had to bite back a laugh. She giggled coyly before telling the woman her name.

"Katherine. Or Kate. When can I see you again?"

Excitement bubbled up into Alex's chest and, without thinking, she proposed that they should meet the following day.

"Sure! I'm working from three till eleven but we can meet up tomorrow morning? What's your number?"

They exchanged numbers, which gave Alex's nerves a break and something to do other than gawk at the woman's seductive charm. Their bodies were so close that they could feel and taste one another's breath. The warm air ghosted across Alex lips, creating a shiver in her nerves and the voice in her head to scream at her to do what she had longed to do.

Alex raised her hand to caress the light brown locks, surprised to find it incredibly smooth and soft, given that it looked like it was coated in product. She wanted to see as much of that attractive face as possible and guided the hair so that it sat behind Katherine's right ear.

In one long, gentle movement, Alex ran her fingers delicately over Katherine's cheek, down her neck and over the fabric covered arm. Katherine had grasped Alex by the waist and she too had brushed Alex's dark plum hair from her face. She had Alex's cheek cupped in her palm and as they stared right into each other's eyes, Katherine flattened her palm and pressed gently, bringing Alex's face closer.

They were now too close to keep gazing into each other's eyes, Alex found, and, closing them, all she could sense was the feeling of the woman's lips on her own.

"Hey, guys," Alex panted as she slid into the back seat of Lestrade's car, out of breath from having power-marched from The Silver Blaze. Or was it because she had just snogged the hottest woman she had ever met? The three men stared at her, all three of their mouths' slightly open.

"What?" she asked innocently. Sherlock was the first to respond. In his usual enigmatic fashion, he stretched one side of his mouth in an amused half-smile and turned to face the front, instructing the D.I. to drive. Of course, from the pinkness of Alex's lips, a slight glisten of sweat on her brow and chest, the way her hands quivered and the smile that was inevitably from experiencing arousal gave her away.

"So, it went well after all, then, eh?" John asked. Alex perceived that John had come to the same conclusion as Sherlock. The doctor knew his friend's methods.

"Err, yeah. Yeah, it went well. Really well." Alex was still overcoming the high. It was hard not to think about the soft warmth of Katherine's skin, the fullness of the lips, even though they were slightly dry and chapped under her lipstick. The taste of her breath, the feel of her tongue...

"Well?" John asked, snapping Alex out of her trance.

"Well, um, we're seeing each other tomorrow morning in Covent Garden. We've exchanged numbers, all is good."

This speech clearly frustrated Sherlock, who was entirely interested in the outcome of the case and not at all bothered about his friend's love life.

"Please remember, Alex, that you have been enlisted to find out some information."

"Yes, Sherlock. I haven't forgotten. I couldn't find out much tonight other than what I told you. I'll see what I can find out tomorrow. It might take a while to be absolutely sure."

Both women had deliberately arrived earlier than agreed for their rendezvous. Alex had kept up her disguise of the fake beauty spot and feminine attire, and she still had the wire on her. Sherlock was the only one listening from a couple of streets away in a library (reading up on ambidexterity at the same time as listening for clues), yet nothing that Katherine said, no matter how Alex tried, could reveal anything concrete. Usually Sherlock would be able to sift a clue from a conversation with more skill than a jeweller finding the real diamond within a thousand cubic zirconium replicas, but nothing came of it.

Katherine had asked Alex to meet her at work at ten that night, so they could go clubbing after she clocked off work.

Sherlock was adamant that Alex work harder, to attempt to get Katherine to let her guard down about her past, but she was just as Sherlock had described on the train – someone who did not open up to others or trust easily. Alex was certain that Katherine liked her, very much, but trust would come in time.

"It could take weeks – months even – to get conclusive proof, Sherlock. Lestrade can't get a warrant for her arrest without evidence. Not even a deduction or conjecture would hold up."

"I know, Alex. I'm not saying that you are doing a bad job so far, I mean, it's only been a day. But tonight, if you, er, do become more, um, _familiar_ with her, on an intimate level, we may have enough details to make a positive ID. The police have tapped the pub phone using a concealed device but the mysterious Mike hasn't called recently. If he does, the prison officers will be paged instantly and Stuart Gilchrist will be monitored. However, this still won't be evidence enough. Don't wear the wire tonight. Keep it in your bag and keep your bag slightly open."

"Will do." Alex drifted off for a moment, gazing into the flickering fire to her left. John and Sherlock eyed her intently, yet Alex seemed to be as aware of them as she was of the items in the flat. All her mind could focus on was Katherine and the anticipation of an arrest. If Katherine was Carina, she would never see her again.

"Alex, you haven't fallen for her, have you?" John asked.

"What? No, God no! I told you, I don't have a whole heart to give."

"Not even a part of it, Alex. Not one. DO NOT get emotionally involved. Do that and you _will_ fail. Do that and another criminal _will_ walk free. Letting _feelings_ get in the way clouds clear logical judgement and focus. Use your brain, Alex, not your heart."

"Fine! You've said that before, you've made yourself clear. I swear that I am not in love – if I were it would be a bloody coup because I've only known her five minutes – and I _won't_ fall in love."

Sherlock examined her expression and body language with his expert eyes for a couple of seconds. He clapped his hands together, sighed dubiously, and announced that he had not yet discovered whether a man had died from carbon monoxide poisoning or methane and set to work in his makeshift lab.

Lestrade dropped Alex off in the same street in the evening and promised to stay close until they moved onto the club. He also was able to call for back up if required.

Alex's heart gave a thump as soon as she saw Katherine's face. Alex perched on a stool next to the bar and flirted in a much more confident and open manner than she had the previous night. After eleven o'clock, Katherine departed with Alex and hailed a cab to take them to G-A-Y.

"Where do you live, then?" Katherine asked when they were settled in the taxi. Alex gave her the address that Sherlock had told her to. It was actually a flat where an associate of Sherlock's Homeless Network lived and the detective had paid the tenant to leave the place whenever Alex needed it, even if for a night.

A hand snaked its way onto Alex's thigh, creeping up slowly towards her groin. She watched it move, and then flipped her eyes upwards to Katherine's, seeing the eagerness ooze from every pore. A familiar, fuzzy feeling ebbed its way from the stroking hand to a slightly higher place, speeding up Alex's heart rate and breathing. Katherine's mouth was so close to hers, the warmth of her skin and lips waving over Alex's just before they joined together in a chaste, yet long, lingering kiss.

For a second, Alex's nerves told her to stop as they could distract the cabbie. But she was sure that the cabbie had seen it all before and, without giving a care as to who could see and what they thought, Alex canted her head to the side and took Katherine's lips in a slow, deep kiss. The tips of their tongues circled one another's softly at first, and then their kissing grew in intensity. Alex nipped a little at the plumpness of Katherine's bottom lip before plunging her tongue almost all the way into her would-be-lover's mouth. She half-expected Katherine to pull back, but she reciprocated the gesture and their kiss became so deep that they couldn't get any closer in their position.

Only seconds passed when Katherine pulled away, so far that Alex couldn't stretch and try to capture those lips again. She was about to voice her protest when she opened her eyes, yet Katherine didn't seem to want to stop. She had stopped the kiss to speak.

"Do you really want to go clubbing?"

"What do you mean?" Alex queried.

"You _know_ what I mean."

Nothing more needed to be said. Alex nodded and Katherine called out her address to the cabbie. Once outside Katherine's flat, Alex told her that she would need a minute to text her 'flatmate' to let them know she wouldn't be home.

Opening her bag and using her body to shield the device from Katherine's view, she held the microphone to her lips and whispered softly.

"You don't want to hear this, I'm turning it off. I'll let you know what happens tomorrow."

**Not sure yet if I'm going to write what happens in the flat or start with the aftermath. Decisions, decisions...**


	45. Deeper In Trouble

Alex had to brace herself against the cold, brick wall that surrounded the block of flats from which she had just emerged. The coolness was refreshing as was the chilly, yet still, morning air. It was barely seven in the morning and she had just left Katherine's flat.

Smiling to herself and subconsciously shaking her head, Alex breathed in deeply and made her way to the main road. She had barely taken two steps around the corner of the neighbouring street, when a car rushed past so fast that Alex shouted a swear word instinctively before realising that it was probably not for the best.

"Oh, God..." she muttered when she saw the car stop. But it wasn't the prospect of having a random person confront her over her louder than necessary expletive, but rather the fact that it was a silver BMW, with two people in the front whom she recognised. The tall, dark haired man in the passenger seat got out quickly, spinning around on his heels and marching towards the young woman.

"Oh, shit!" Alex whispered to herself. She had turned off the microphone and both her phones for the night at eleven o'clock the previous evening and had not switched them back on.

Sherlock Holmes looked positively... _angry_! Alex had hardly ever seen him wear such a strong emotion in his face. His jaw was clenched, his lips were stretched into a grimace and his usual swagger was missing from the attitude in his gait, which had been replaced by fury.

"In the car, now!" he said sternly.

"Ow!" Alex cried as he gripped her arm and pulled her towards the car. He opened the door and pushed her in. Sherlock was not usually physically aggressive towards people, especially women.

"What the f –"

"Silence!" the detective demanded once he was in the seat beside her.

"_You_ _turned the mic and your phones off_, Alex! What the hell were you thinking? Are you _that_ stupid?" Lestrade barked at her. He, too, was furious with her.

"I'm sure you didn't want to hear what happened!" Alex defended herself.

"No, I'm sure we didn't!" Sherlock growled. Alex was about to retort but he pressed his gloved finger to her lips firmly. "Not another word from you until we get to Scotland Yard."

Alex glared at the detective, shocked by his reprimand. She complied with his request but felt her cheeks flush when his eyes 'scanned' her; looking her up and down. The fact that he had just deduced what she and Katherine had done the night before was even more embarrassing than the time when her mother had walked in on her and her first girlfriend. Alex cringed at the recollection of the event and the current one. She resorted to staring out the window, seeing that Sherlock's eyes was looking ahead, but it was obvious that his eyes were boring straight into her reflection.

"Why are you so angry with me?" Alex asked as soon as the door to Lestrade's office was closed. Sherlock, Lestrade, John, Anderson and even Donovan were less than pleased.

"Why do you think, Alex?" John asked angrily.

"I only turned them off when..."

"Yes, we know when you turned them off!" Sherlock cut her off. "Did you not even think, Alex, that you were in the house with a potential criminal, who had connections? We would not have had any way of knowing if your life had been in danger!"

"Oh..." Alex said sadly, looking at the floor and tapping her elbow awkwardly. They had a point.

"Yes, 'oh'!" Anderson chipped in.

"If you had been a police officer undercover you would have been picking up your P45 this morning!" Donovan added with a smirk.

"But I'm not a police officer, am I? I did this as a favour."

The five people in the room did not change their disapproving expressions, and Alex knew that she had let them down. Her throat was constricting with impending tears; she hated it when she had disappointed people; it was worse than disappointing herself. Swallowing back a sob, she rose from her seat and made her way to the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" Sherlock asked, following her.

Alex had to swallow hard again before she turned around to face him to give him her answer.

"I've obviously not done what you wanted so I'm walking away. I didn't need to do this anyway, so I'm not going to humiliate myself any further."

Before she could touch the cold metal, she felt a stab of pain in her wrist. It took a moment to comprehend that for the second time that day, Sherlock had caused her physical pain. This time, it was by grabbing her joint with enough force to stop her from leaving Lestrade's office. Sherlock leaned down to peer into her eyes, his expression softer. Alex dipped her head to avoid looking him in the eyes. She still was far too shy to acknowledge that he knew _exactly_ what she had been involved in doing the previous night. She was also hyper-aware of her failure, and that his opinion of her would have been brought down several levels.

"You're not going anywhere. At least, not until you have filled us in on the details."

"I don't need to. You've already seen for yourself," Alex answered. Sherlock was still trying to get her to look at him but she always so stubborn, would not allow him to.

"That's not important. What we need to know is your... observations."

"Yes, like does she have any piercings or tattoos that might identify her?" John chimed in. Sherlock acknowledged his question with a wave of his hand.

"Sit down, Alex. Please."

Alex knew that the final word would have been meant as a charmer rather than a polite plea for acquiescence. Yet she knew Sherlock enough to know that his knowledge of social niceties and politeness came from a place of academic study and not from his heart. Alex slowly made her way to the seat she had occupied a minute before and prepared for her interrogation.

"What happened as soon as you turned off the mic and the phones?" Anderson asked.

"Anderson, surely even your minuscule brain could tell you what happened between the two women," Sherlock snorted. He kept his eyes locked on Alex throughout. It was clear to Alex that he didn't care about what Alex had got up to. He was just after facts about the woman's identity.

"That's why I turned them off . I didn't want you to hear."

"Yes, we understand that, but –" Lestrade started.

"Look, I did my best!" Alex exclaimed. She turned her palms upwards to make the point. "I'm not a trained police officer, and a year ago I had never partaken in anything of this magnitude. I _know_ you were worried, and I am _very _sorry that I put you through that. But I'm okay. Nothing happened to suggest that my safety has been compromised." The members of the room looked dubious. "I swear! It was... fun. We've arranged to meet again tonight." Alex straightened her expression once she realised that she had involuntarily smiled at the thought of meeting Katherine again.

"Tonight?" Lestrade asked, incredulous. "Where?"

"Her flat."

"You're not going," John stated, as if that was the end of it.

"Why not?"

"Because it's clear that you have let her get into your head," Lestrade explained. Sherlock gave him a look of approval.

Alex switched her focus between the three men in front of her. Anger was bubbling up inside. _How dare he say things that aren't true! _"I have not!"

The looks on their faces didn't change.

"I promise, I haven't let her get into my head. Nor my heart, for that matter. Seriously, let me continue with the case."

Lestrade reclined in his chair and looked at Sherlock and John. It was several seconds before any of them spoke again.

"Fine. You can see her tonight."

_Excellent!_

"Only undercover, mind. You do not go as Alex Price. Stick to the alias and do not turn the mic off."

"But..."

"Do not turn the mic off!" Lestrade repeated. He held out his palm to drive the point home. Alex huffed in agreement.

"What can you tell us so far?" John asked. Anderson and Donovan produced their phones and appeared to prepare to take down notes. Alex braced herself, knowing that she had to give as much information as possible, but she hoped that before Katherine's identity could be deciphered, she could have one more night with her. Just one. Alex cleared her throat and began.

"She has a tattoo of a shield on her lower spine. All black, no colours or patterns. She seems to have had tattoos either side of the shield that appear to have been removed with a laser. Probably wings or something given the shape."

"Can you draw the shape for us?" Lestrade asked, handing her a piece of paper. Alex was a rather good artist and drew what she remembered in a matter of seconds. Sherlock nodded when John showed the paper to him.

"The shield," Sherlock said, "how big is it?"

"A little bit bigger than my palm," Alex answered.

"Mmm. Go on," he said.

"Erm, she has had piercings, several of them, but it's hard to say exactly how many. She has a ring in her left nipple, the other has had a piercing but it was removed ten years ago."

"How would you know that?" John asked. Alex could sense that he was holding back a smirk.

"She told me."

"Oh."

"Anyway – she has naturally curly, mousy hair but dyes it brown and straightens it every day. I had a search through her possessions while she had a shower this morning. I found her birth certificate and wrote down the information on this sheet of paper."

Alex produced a jotter pad from her bag and handed it to Lestrade. Sherlock snatched it before the DI could read its content.

"It was also rather new-looking but it seemed to have a lot of creases and it was faded in parts. That would suggest it is a few years old but, I don't know, it was almost like..." Alex knew what she wanted to say but couldn't quite put it into words. Sherlock seemed to understand.

"Like it had been deliberately altered to make it seem old?" he asked. Alex nodded. The detective nodded back for Alex to continue her story.

"She wears Chanel No. 5 – has a large bottle of it, half used – funny because she hasn't worn it whilst working. She wears Loverdose whenever she works at the bar. She also has an elaborate variety of clothes; some girlie dresses and shoes but others were very tomboyish. One thing I did notice was that she had many moles on her arms and one mole on her upper arm was very large. Her clothes were of much variety but none of them had short sleeves."

The people in the room seemed impressed at her observations and skills of recollection. Alex had by no means an eidetic memory (one thing she admired about Mycroft Holmes) but she had a better than average one.

"It seems," Sherlock chipped in after a few seconds, "that Miss Parker could be Miss Musgrave from Alex's descriptions, but as nobody who knew her won't co-operate and we can find no dental or medical records, this information is meaningless."

"Well, I did hear her talking on her phone on the landing," Alex told him. "I honestly heard a slight northern twang in some of her vowels. Can't be sure that it's Hull, though. She's not a bad singer, either."

This seemed to stop all the beating hearts in the room, apart from John Watson's, who was surprised at the sudden exchange of glances.

"What?" he asked. Alex was just as puzzled.

"Carina Musgrave was a lounge singer but she disguised herself each time. Strictly no cameras were allowed in the clubs she sang at and anyone who took a photo was... well, you get the idea," Lestrade explained.

"So, when did you hear her sing?" John asked Alex.

"In the shower this morning. Voice of an angel. Sings country, a bit like Shania Twain."

A few more seconds of silence followed. Alex was getting rather confused. Why had this declaration caused the people around her to go silent?

"Lestrade, please excuse me," Sherlock said. He got swiftly to his feet and swept out of the room, deliberately brushing past Anderson on the way.

"Why, where are you going?" Lestrade called out.

Sherlock didn't answer. John slapped his thighs and resorted to following his friend. As enigmatic as ever, Sherlock's intentions were as clear as a fogged mirror. Anderson tutted and Donovan found an excuse to leave the office.

"So, what now?" Alex asked the DI.

"Now, Alex, you go home, get some sleep – you look like you could use a few hours – get yourself ready for tonight and, if I know Sherlock, which I don't think I do very much, I would say that you would have to get her to sing somehow. We'll need to hear her. If Sherlock says differently, I'll let you know."

Alex did as Lestrade suggested. Before she left the Yard, he had acknowledged that she had acted out of dignity and was, indeed, perfectly okay. Mrs Hudson had been looking after Mitzie and had decided to keep her the whole weekend. It wasn't good for Alex to see her kitten only for a few hours because she was probably going to be away all night again.

At seven in the evening, Alex walked the two streets from where Lestrade's car was situated to Katherine's flat. Alex found herself becoming more and more nervous as she approached. Not because Katherine could figure out that the police were onto her, and that Alex was a decoy, but because she really liked this woman and they might not see one another again after this night.

The thought caused the heart in Alex's chest to race and the heart to ache. _No_, she reprimanded herself, _you're not in love. She's not got under your skin._

Katherine was in her silky pinstriped purple dressing gown when Alex arrived. It reminded Alex of Sherlock's tight purple shirt. It didn't leave much to the imagination and it wasn't hard for Alex to deduce that the gorgeous woman in front of her was completely naked underneath. The notion of this distracted Alex from her prior sense of foreboding.

They had barely entered the flat before Katherine practically tore Alex's coat off her and slipped her hands up her jumper to grasp the soft skin on her waist. Her fingers circled teasingly, sending Alex's body and mind into a state of frenzy.

_Shit, they can hear!_ Alex found herself split between the side of her that wanted to reciprocate Katherine's amorous touch, and the side that was focused on the task. She thought for a minute, still passionately kissing her lover's lips, that maybe it was best to use seduction to get Katherine to do as she would ask of her later.

_But they will hear!_ Those words went round in circles, almost in time to Katherine's fingers, which were creeping up her torso.

Then, all sense of caring washed away. Alex didn't care if they could hear. They couldn't _see_ anything, so what was the worry? Alex was more scared of them hearing anything like 'pillow talk', but now Katherine had latched onto Alex's body, stripping her of her clothes and senses, Alex really didn't care.

She started to walk forward, pushing Katherine back into her bedroom. The back of her knees hit the bed and Alex could sense that she was trying to stop herself falling. She tried to turn around so that Alex would be the one lying down. But Alex was not having this. She never submitted to any woman and Katherine already knew this from their encounter the night before. Before Katherine spun Alex round fully, Alex pushed her so that she landed on the bed with a bounce, the silk billowing and swishing over her skin. The gown parted at the centre, revealing her toned, tanned legs and, before she could say anything, Alex pulled on one of the loose pieces of silk on the tie and slowly uncovered the woman beneath her.

Alex had seen Katherine's naked body before. This, however, was a new feeling. Her lover's skin glowed and glistened, her curves were perfectly sculpted, and even the odd stray hair or bit of cellulite was adorable.

"You okay, Alex?" Katherine asked.

Alex flicked her eyes to Katherine's, making it obvious she was simply in awe.

"You are beautiful. Just... _beautiful_."

The moment froze and Alex took the opportunity to completely expose all of Katherine's body. Running her hand from her neck to navel, Alex followed the line of her touch with light, fleeting kisses. She occasionally swished her tongue over the skin, which was becoming warmer with each passing second. She moved back up, kissing the rest of Katherine's torso, feeling her breathing and heartbeat accelerate, and biting gently at the pierced nipple. Katherine responded by arching her back and moaning softly.

Alex covered every inch of the flesh and moved further and further down. The process was slow, very slow, and Katherine seemed to grow impatient. She moaned and whimpered so much that Alex thought she might climax from the kisses alone. But she wasn't going to let that happen.

She stopped kissing Katherine for a second and stood up to once again admire the beauty before her.

"Why have you stopped?" Katherine asked.

"Move up."

Katherine obeyed, smiling as she shifted to the position that Alex wanted her in. Alex planted her mouth where it was before, just above where the hairs beneath her navel were. She inched lower and lower, keeping her eyes on the woman writhing on the bed above her. She weaved her arms under Katherine's legs to grip her hips and watched as Katherine arched back against the bed, instantly responding to the touch of Alex's tongue.


	46. A Knife In The Heart

**So much fun yet so emotional. Nod to A Scandal In Bohemia. My undying gratitude to my friend and beta, Holly, who has made me a better writer. Thank you XXX**

Alex felt a chilling breeze flow over her naked body as she lay down next to Katherine. Her lover was still coming down from the climax she had just been brought to and, panting deeply, she turned to face Alex. Side by side, they faced one another. Alex shuddered as Katherine's cold fingers touched her waist but it soon became an erotic sensation of pleasure once her digits began to slide up and down her side, causing her goose-bumps to become more prominent.

"You okay?" Katherine asked.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be? More than okay."

"No, I meant do you want me to..?"

"Er, no, I'm fine. I haven't really got the energy!" she lied. The real reason was that Alex's friends would have heard _every _word that had come from Katherine's mouth in the last ten minutes or so – some of which were embarrassing, to say the least. Sherlock, John, and Lestrade hearing her in the throes of passion would be the ultimate humiliation.

The slim figure curled up beside her constantly threatened to distract Alex from the purpose of her visit. Her golden skin, the way it shone in the light from the bedside lamp, was so alluring that Alex was contemplating sketching the beautiful sight so to preserve it forever.

Then, she heard a sound coming from the pocket of her jeans, which were balled up on the floor.

"One minute," Alex said as she sat up and reached down to grab it. She was sure to keep the back of the phone facing Katherine so that she wouldn't see what had been sent to her. It was just a picture of some musical notes. They appeared to be notes that Sherlock had drawn onto blank music sheets himself. Alex knew what the prompt meant, but she had to give it time so Katherine wouldn't make the connection between the message and the request for her to sing.

Just as Alex settled back down on the bed, Katherine lifted the heavy duvet and they both slipped underneath, shivering slightly.

Without asking permission, Katherine wrapped an arm and a leg around Alex and rested her head against her shoulder. They remained silent for a few moments as they felt one another's warmth push away the chill.

Alex's eyes wandered around the room out of curiosity and the fact that she couldn't really look at Katherine given that she was covered with a duvet and her head was cradled under her chin.

Amongst the numerous dream catchers, small tubular bells, and an old wardrobe that had been aesthetically decorated with what looked like nail polish, Alex noticed a guitar case propped up against the wall. She wasn't sure if it had been there the previous night, but it would explain Katherine's love of country music.

She knew that the aim of the night was to get Katherine to sing. Yet, there was a part of Alex that actually really wanted to hear her again.

A few long, slightly louder breaths from her lover signalled that she was dozing, maybe completely asleep. Alex felt herself be drawn closer to sleep but the image of the detectives on the other side of the wire kept her alert.

"Kate? Katie, can I ask you something?"

"Mm? Er, yeah…" she answered, slurring from her drowsiness.

"Do you play?"

"Play what? Oh, the guitar? Yeah. Just on my own. But I don't play at clubs or bars like I…"

She froze as she looked up at Alex, who had also paused. Neither of them moved. Alex was the next to speak, after clearing her throat. She decided to be brave and question Katherine further.

"You used to play at clubs and bars?"

Maybe pushing for information would not throw suspicion on her at all. If Alex had met Katherine the way she had done without any legal or other reason behind it, she would have asked this very question.

"Er, no. No, I, er, didn't _myself_. I went to clubs and bars where other people sang live. That's why I took up the guitar, because they inspired me."

Alex was no detective by nature, but even she could both see and hear the blatant lie hidden behind the words and the tone in which they were presented.

"You can sing, too, can't you? I heard you in the shower this morning singing 'How do I live'."

Katherine dipped her head and smiled. When she looked up at Alex, her cheeks had gone as red as they were at the height of her pleasure just minutes before.

"Yeah!" she laughed. "Sorry you had to hear that!"

"No, no, no, it was good. Really good. You sound like a professional country singer."

The blush intensified further. Katherine expressed her gratitude for the compliment.

"Please can you sing something for me?" Alex asked as politely as she could.

Katherine showed her reluctance by initially declining but after several repeats of the word 'please' from Alex, she agreed.

Katherine sang the LeAnn Rimes ballad with more feeling than Alex could handle. She couldn't help but well up. Katherine was so accomplished with her guitar skills that she didn't need to look at her left hand on the fret-board when changing chords. It was obvious that she couldn't look at Alex when singing the most poignant words of the song but when she did, Alex couldn't stop her tears from falling.

Neither could speak once the song was over. Alex wondered if the glorious voice Sherlock had just heard would melt some of the cold casing around his heart. She then decided against it and resolved to carry on trying to keep her composure.

A flashback from the film 'Next' found its way into her mind, where the woman whom Nicholas Cage ran away with confesses that she is working undercover.

_No_, Alex thought, _you can't do that! _

It was getting too hard to fight the urge to take this woman in her arms and confess. The impulsive want to run away with her was driving Alex half-mad.

On the other side were her friends, her mother, her family, and her life as a writer. The emotions were getting too hard to handle and Katherine noticed the panic in Alex's face.

"Darling, what's wrong? I haven't upset you that much have I?"

"No, it's not that," Alex sobbed, frantically pulling on her jeans.

"Then, what? I don't understand. Why are you getting dressed?"

"I've just forgot I've got to be somewhere."

"No you don't. You're lying. Alex, what's going on?" Katherine was panicking, holding back sobs and grabbing Alex's clothing to try and stop her.

"Give them to me!" Alex demanded desperately, holding out her hand.

"No. Tell me what's going on first."

Alex took a step back and let two more tears fall down her face.

"I can't. I'm sorry, I can't. I promised myself I wouldn't do this."

"Do what?" Katherine asked, even though Alex understood that she knew the answer. Alex had been forbidden for letting Katherine in on 'professional' grounds. But another reason was behind her sudden wish to exit.

"I can't fall in love with you."

Katherine dropped Alex's clothes on the floor. The latter gathered them up and began to put them on.

"Is there… is there someone else?" Katherine asked, looking into the corner of the room, dreading the answer. Alex thought hard before providing her with one.

"Something like that."

"So, you've cheated on her with me?"

"No – not in that sense."

"What, then?" Katherine demanded, frantically grabbing Alex's shoulder bag. This gesture instantly made Alex nervous, for it was open and the microphone and wires were inside. She made sure her gaze didn't linger for more than a moment.

"I've, er, not long come out of a relationship. I had my heart broken. I mean, _really_ broken, as in shattered into a million pieces. I can't let it happen again."

"Why not?" Katherine asked, letting go of the bag and walking closer to Alex. Alex stepped back once she realised that Katherine was trying to get hold of her by the waist. The wanting and _needing_ feeling to be touched and loved by this woman was so overwhelming that she felt like she was on the edge of a cliff. One touch, just one, would have her tumbling over. She thought hard before saying anything.

"Because I'll have nothing left if it does."

Alex grabbed the bag and stuffed her phone into it. Before departing the flat, she caught a glimpse of Katherine's face, which depicted a range of different emotions. Hurt, anger, confusion, deflation, rejection, and disappointment.

Guilt swept through Alex as well as a wave of hatred for the police for presenting this case to her. She was right; she was not cut out for undercover work. But then again, she _had_ gone further than most police officers would.

Her cries were becoming more desperate as Alex hurried down the road. Pain shot through her chest and stretched to her fingers and toes. Once she was safely on the neighbouring street, she succumbed to the pain and doubled over, sobbing heavily, letting out muffled expletives, cursing the pain and herself for allowing her head and heart to be so open and vulnerable.

Alex's jean-clad knees had made such hard contact with the floor that the denim had ripped slightly on the rough concrete. Alex clutched her abdomen and dismissed several pedestrians who asked if she was all right. After the tenth person, a familiar voice called her name.

"Alex!"

Lestrade and John were running towards her with Sherlock in tow, who was walking. It didn't surprise Alex that he wouldn't be in a hurry to help someone in pain, especially as it was emotional pain.

"You got it, Alex, you bloody got it!" Lestrade exclaimed, patting her back and helping her up.

"You did really well, are… are you…?" John stuttered as he noticed Alex's tear stained face.

"Alex, I know this is painful for you, but –" Lestrade continued.

"NO! You don't know! Don't you, you, or you," she shouted as she pointed to the three men before her in turn, "ask me to do _anything_ like this again!"

She ran down the path, still clutching her side with Sherlock, Lestrade and John chasing after her.

Alex then took the biggest risk of her life and practically launched herself in front of an oncoming cab to stop it. She climbed in, despite harsh words from the driver, and watched as the image of her friends faded into the distance.

Once home, the stabbing in her chest and abdomen had dulled a little, but refused to leave her alone. Rather than retrieve Mitzie from Mrs Hudson, so not to endure the lady's hugs and cake at a moment where she didn't want mollycoddling, she curled on the sofa, still with her bag and coat around her. She had turned off the microphone during the cab ride and talked softly to an imaginary Katherine, telling her how sorry she was.

That was another thing that hurt so much. That she had to cause pain to another person, a person whom she cared about. More than cared about, in fact. But had she fallen in love? Alex was romantically experienced and knew the difference between caring and infatuation, and love. Just as she started to question herself, her door opened.

She jumped up from the sofa once she heard two sets of heavy footsteps step down from the hallway into her flat.

"Alex," Sherlock said flatly as soon as he saw her.

"What do you want?" Alex asked quietly as she wiped the stray tears from her cheeks. Her eyes were burning now and all she wanted to do was take out her contacts and curl up with her cat on the sofa.

"Are you okay, Alex?" John asked concernedly. He stepped forward and, with his arm around her shoulders, eased her back onto the sofa.

_What do you fucking think?_ Alex wanted to say, but she thought better of it.

"No. Thought that'd be obvious."

John handed her a tissue from the box on the coffee table. "Okay, all right. Look, you did really well. You got the information we needed and at the point that we thought we'd have to burst in there, you managed to convince her that it was 'love' rather than the case that meant you couldn't stay. Don't be too hard on yourself."

Sherlock had taken the place on the other side of the sofa. Alex felt him reach out to her tentatively to touch the nearest shoulder to him or her arm, but he withdrew it once Alex flinched. He knew he was in the doghouse.

"I'm not crying because of how well I thought I'd done, John," she said, turning to the doctor on her right, "I'm crying because I… I have… _feelings_ for her. Once she's in custody I won't see her again."

"I know," John said, rubbing her shoulder.

"Once she's in custody, Alex, you won't have to worry about feelings getting in the way. You can forget her and move on." Sherlock chimed in.

Never before had Alex felt an urge to punch the consulting detective right where it hurt. His speech, although well-meant and logical, did nothing to douse the fire in her heart. She turned to him and looked deep into his pale-green eyes.

"The door's that way, Sherlock. Please close it on the way out."

Sherlock looked as though he was going to protest. He then looked at John over Alex's shoulder, pursed his lips, and swiftly made his exit.

"Why are you angry with him?" John asked.

"He nominated me for the task. If he had just left me out of it, the police would have succeeded way before now and… I would never have met her." Alex's voice cracked on the last word and she began sobbing into her tissue. John hugged her gently, yet Alex knew that like Sherlock, he didn't deal with extreme emotions very well.

She politely asked him to leave a few minutes later and, after bracing herself for a big squeeze from Mrs Hudson, she went to collect Mitzie.

Alex fell asleep on the sofa with her kitten, who had got a bit too warm and was stretched out on the armchair when Alex awoke. It was still dark. She checked her phone; it was 12:53am.

However, she hadn't woken up naturally. Her phone had been ringing and had now taken the caller to voicemail. It was Sherlock. He didn't leave a message but tried again immediately after.

"What do you want?" Alex demanded. She was still not on good terms with this man.

"For you to come upstairs, now."

"Why the hell should I?"

"Alex. I know you're upset, but your presence is required right now." Silence. "Please."

"Fine. Give me five minutes," Alex replied, pressing the 'end call' button much harder than necessary and taking a moment longer than agreed in the bathroom before taking a slow walk upstairs. Sherlock fixed her with his best 'that was not five minutes' stare. Alex responded with a steadfast glare that told him that his name was on the last page of her good book.

Lestrade and John were there, all with half-drunk cups of tea. John got up from his usual red armchair and gestured for Alex to sit in it.

"After I left Scotland Yard yesterday I consulted many members of the Homeless Network. They found some affiliates of Carina Musgrave's gang, some of whom often saw her sing live. Photographs and filming was forbidden but there were many members of the Network and affiliates who had nothing to gain by not co-operating. When Katherine was singing, this was played back to the twenty or so. All of whom said that the owner of the voice was, without doubt, Carina Musgrave," Sherlock told her. "In addition, we found someone else with a clearer image of Carina fifteen years ago. Using the required software, we were able to create a match with the shape of the face. Given that the shield on her back was large and had laser treated scars beside it, is evidence that the shield was used to cover up the tattoo that was once there. A rose, the same as is on the spine of Stuart 'Mike' Gilchrist."

Alex took a deep breath in. That was it. Katherine was now in custody and they would never meet again. She would probably try to find her and take some sort of violent revenge on her once released but, at that point, Alex didn't care.

"Okay, so can I go now?" she asked petulantly, rising from the armchair.

"Not yet," Lestrade said. His voice seemed sterner than usual. "Remember that we said you did well? I'm afraid that you didn't do as well as we'd hoped."

"W-what do you mean?" Alex asked timidly.

"She found out," John explained grimly. His demeanour was definitely the friendliest in the room. The two detectives remained nonchalant and held their own. Alex repeated her question, prompting Sherlock to roll his eyes.

"She must have found out what you were doing, because she was gone when the squad arrived at the flat to bring her in for questioning! Plus her passport, personal effects and some clothes," Sherlock growled, accusation lacing his tone. Alex felt like crying again. She had let them down, just like she had done the day before.

"Obviously, I couldn't see what went on in that room and nothing could be gained from the recording of the conversation, which I have listened to numerous times, Alex. What caused her to find out?"

Alex really didn't know. Katherine/Carina seemed just as hurt as Alex when she departed. She wracked her brains to attempt to find out. The look that Katherine had last given her. So many emotions, thoughts, and expressions to filter through, Alex was not sure how to interpret them. But she was sure that it was on Alex's departure that the situation changed – or shortly after it.

"I think it was when I left. I'm not sure how but…"

The memory of Alex's bag being open came flooding back to her. Had Katherine seen inside it? Had she seen the wire? Alex owned up to it, which caused the three men in the room to sigh in disbelief. Lestrade and Sherlock chatted away from earshot for a few minutes.

"Okay, Alex," Lestrade said when he had finished his conversation with Sherlock. "You _did_ get the information we needed, and we have a warrant to bring her in for questioning over the murder."

"Not an arrest warrant?" Alex asked.

"No, not enough evidence at this stage. Stuart was involved but there was evidence at the scene that Carina was also involved, although there was no evidence that she caused the death. She is also wanted in connection with other crimes but, again, not enough for an arrest at this stage."

"So, she could still walk free?" Alex enquired further, hope building up in her system.

"Yes. But she would be in trouble for fraud, given that she has changed her identity a few times," John added.

"That was necessary!" Alex quickly interjected, instinctively defending the woman she cared about.

A silence fell in the room as Lestrade fumbled inside his briefcase and pulled out a large envelope. It was light beige in colour and was rather thick. Lestrade held it at arm's length to Alex.

"What's this?" she asked. Lestrade nodded for her to view the writing on the front:

_Alex: For Your Eyes Only_

Shocked and with no small amount of anxiety, Alex opened the envelope. Inside were two sheets of paper, all typed in Times New Roman, font size sixteen. It hadn't been printed from Katherine's own computer, for the paper in her printer was thinner and of poorer quality.

"It says that it's for your eyes only, Alex. You may want to read it in Sherlock's room or your own flat," John offered.

"If she wants," Sherlock chimed. "Or, she can read it. It says that the letter is for her _eyes_ only. Not her _ears_ only."

Alex had to concede that Sherlock's comment was relevant, but she wanted to read the letter in private, for she knew that she would be in pieces afterwards. She dreaded what Katherine had written and, with shaking hands, she unfolded the paper and began to read out loud.

_My darling Alex,_

_I assume that at the time you will be reading this, I will be out of the country under another name. I thought that my real identity would catch up with me soon and the catalyst was you. I know that you were working undercover and you didn't want to. The sight of you breaking down before me caused me more pain than you can imagine._

_One look inside your bag confirmed, along with your haste to leave, that you had recorded our meetings, although I doubt you recorded our first night as you were, shall we say, keener to participate than you were tonight. _

_I want you to know that I deeply regret my life as a criminal. I can assure you that it is no life at all being on the run; always having to look over your shoulder, and getting former colleagues and acquaintances asking you to perform 'jobs' for them. _

_Please believe me when I say that I had absolutely no hand in that police officer's murder. I accept responsibility for thefts, deception, and aiding and abetting, but not for murder. Seeing that man die was a wake-up call for me. I wanted to live an honest life. Rest assured that besides attaining identities illegally, I have not broken the law since that tragic day. _

_I would be very grateful if you keep this letter a secret and do what you want with it. You will always remain a special person to me and it hurts so much that we will never see one another again. Move on and meet someone worthy of your love, Alex. That's what I want for you. Please do not try and find me, or grieve. I will treasure you forever and I hope that this will be mutual. _

_Yours always,_

_Katie xxx_

Alex snapped back into reality when a tear hit the paper. She folded it and replaced the letter in the envelope.

"Don't you want to check it for fingerprints?" Alex asked Lestrade.

"I've already done that."

"She's too clever for that," Sherlock observed. "Cleverer than a lot of criminals I have ever had the fortune to investigate."

Lestrade picked up some more papers from Sherlock's desk and was starting to insert them into files in his briefcase. Alex asked him to stop when she saw what one of them was.

"Sorry?" he asked.

"The photograph. The one of Katherine at the pub. Please may I have it?" Alex pleaded. Lestrade looked at Sherlock and John before responding.

"You already have the letter."

"Yes, but I want to see her smile every day. Please, Lestrade."

Sherlock nodded at the DI, who reluctantly handed it to her. Alex took it with gratitude and, smiling back at the woman in the picture, she left 221b for her own flat.

***sobs* this is my personal favourite, if I am allowed to have one. Thanks for reading.**


	47. The Brightest Star

Three weeks had passed since Alex's last meeting with Katherine. She had read the woman's final note and had ran her fingers over the photograph numerous times. Tears and sobs, although superfluous at the beginning, were slowly becoming few and far between and the swelling of her eyes was receding.

Alex could also feel the wound in her chest begin to seal. It no longer hurt like hell, but it still twinged often. She missed Katherine more than she could say but, in spite of her intense feelings, she knew that she had saved herself from falling completely.

Alex had, with a heavy heart, denied Mrs Hudson's wish to comfort her, favouring Mitzie's innocent attempts to cheer her owner up by playing games. She even scared the living daylights out of Alex when she dropped a still-live and rather chunky spider on her owner's lap, expecting to be praised. Alex nearly had nearly jumped out of her skin but was grateful for the distraction. At times, Alex felt that if she hadn't adopted her kitten she would not have been able to pull through the last few months.

Molly called over on the third day unannounced. But Alex wasn't going to push her best friend away and so she cried on Molly's shoulder for nearly half an hour before apologising profusely.

Sherlock left her alone, as Alex did with him. Their paths crossed twice when Alex left the flat on three occasions , to collect her post in her pyjamas. They had blanked each other and although he was still in the doghouse in Alex's eyes, she knew that he was also not impressed with her mistake at revealing to the mark who she was.

During the fourth week, Alex decided to take a few therapeutic walks around London by herself. She didn't pay any attention to the routes and had to catch a couple of buses or trains to make it back to Baker Street.

After feeding Mitzie and consuming a rather disgusting ready meal one evening, Alex sat quietly on her sofa and pondered upon whether she should head onto the roof of 221 Baker Street. It was an idea that she had considered several times, for the roof was flat and she would be able to stargaze without any interruptions - provided neighbours didn't shout abuse from their towering windows.

Once Mitzie had settled down for the night, Alex donned her dressing gown, climbed the metal staircase with her slipper covered feet and stepped out onto the roof of the building. It was dusk and rather cold. She shivered and pulled her fluffy pink dressing gown tighter around her as she walked towards the centre of the flat area. She sat cross-legged and let the cold wind dance around her, which caused her spine to go rigid and part of her ponytail to become loose and fly around her head. Feeling the bitter chill was causing her pain, but any feeling, anything at all, was welcome. Even if it was painful.

Soon, it was completely dark. She laid down and, using the cushion she had brought with her, allowed herself to completely relax and no longer tense up from the freezing breeze.

Words and phrases drifted through her mind. Mostly they consisted of the name 'Katie' being said over and over again. There was no way that Alex could cry anymore. Her eyes were dry and refused to well up.

She recalled the moment that John had tried to get her to assist them on a new case two days previously. Alex had point-blank refused. A case was the last activity that she felt like enduring. The only thing that was on her mind was her recent loss and how she could get over it. Sherlock didn't appear to care about her decline and even seemed to welcome it.

Three hours of stargazing had flown by and Alex had fallen into a small trance. She could swear that she was seeing more and more stars as time passed and she wished that she could identify the constellations. She could only identify the Plough, Orion and the Pole Star. Still, it was more than Sherlock could do.

It was hard for her to say how long she was stargazing for before she heard a familiar voice greet her from behind.

"Hello."

"Hi, John," she said casually without looking at him.

"What are you doing on the roof at this time of night?"

"I wanted to be on my own."

"Well," John said in a matter-of-fact tone as he sat beside her, "you can be alone in your flat.". Alex felt slightly patronised.

"I know that. But there's always the possibility that Mrs H will try and get me to eat more cake and drink more tea than I can handle. So, I thought the roof was best. I didn't fancy going out anywhere. Call me crazy if you want but I'm quite content up here."

John shifted closer to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He pulled her towards him and rubbed her upper arm affectionately.

"Still hung up over… Katherine?"

Alex took a few seconds to reply.

"I'm getting there."

John rubbed her arm again and, with his other, he pulled her closer so that she was completely encased in his embrace. The feeling of a warm body was more comforting than she would care to admit. She was glad that John had found her and not Sherlock. He had probably deduced where she was and let it slip. It didn't surprise her that John had come to find her rather than the selfish, arrogant consulting detective.

"You know, Sherlock did warn you. If you found yourself falling in love you should have bowed out of the case," John told her. If it wasn't for his sympathetic inflection, Alex would have pulled herself out of his arms and told him where to go.

"I know. But actually, John, I didn't fall for her."

John released her a little so he could look into her eyes.

"You didn't?"

Alex shook her head. John looked incredulous and he furrowed his brow as if to question her statement.

"I didn't!" she repeated in a higher pitch.

"Well, what would you call the last few weeks? I'd say you've been heartbroken."

"To a certain extent. My heart has been… I don't know… knocked a little. Not broken. I know the difference between infatuation and love."

John repositioned himself so that Alex was once again held tight against him. He shivered a fraction but he also was feeling the benefit of the extra heat, if only a small amount.

"I'm okay. I _almost_ fell for her. I was just on the edge. If I had let her touch me one more time, I'd be in a much worse position than I am now."

John didn't answer. Alex guessed that he was still not convinced by her statement. He asked her if she wished to leave the rooftop but Alex declined. It was so peaceful being under the stars that she could happily stay there all night if she wanted to.

They didn't speak for several minutes. Alex's mind became less and less enthralled by the night sky and more and more concerned about her failure. Nothing could undo it and a criminal was now free, albeit a criminal she had feelings for. Alex pulled herself slowly out of John's arms and sat with her own wrapped around her knees.

"I failed, John. I cocked up. Sherlock probably thinks so much less of me now. I don't think he'll ever ask me for help again." Alex welled up involuntarily. John placed his hand on her back and rubbed her gently.

"You did your best. Anyone can mess up, Alex. Sometimes it's over something quite trivial but in this case, it wasn't. Yes, a criminal has walked free. I'll be honest when I say that Sherlock isn't over the moon about it, neither is Lestrade or the rest of the Met. It was a simple mistake to leave your bag open and it had nothing to do with any feelings."

Alex turned towards him and simply stared at his friendly face. John was the kindest man she had ever met and she couldn't help but return his embrace. She kissed his cheek several times, evoking a laugh from the good doctor.

"All right, all right! What was that for?" John asked with an amused grin. It quickly changed to concerned when he saw that Alex was on the verge of tears.

"You're incredible, John. I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here."

They sat in contented silence for several minutes. Alex almost fell asleep on John's shoulder before he startled her with a sudden interjection.

"Oh! There's something you need to know. About Irene Adler…"

_That name!_ Alex thought. Just the mention of those four syllables was enough to make Alex grind her teeth with contempt.

"Has she come back?" Alex asked.

"Um… no, she, er…"

"What?" Alex enquired after a few moments of silence.

"Well," John said, looking about him as if to check that they were alone, "something happened two months ago, not long after Mycroft… _released_ Irene, so to speak."

"Uh huh…" "But Alex," John implored, turning so he could look right into Alex's eyes, "you _can't say a word_ to Sherlock about this. Not a single word! You promise me?"

"Er... yeah, I promise," Alex answered, confused.

"Right. Irene was kidnapped by a terror cell in Karachi, Pakistan and… executed."

Alex's chest jumped. She never liked Irene, especially because she wanted to bring her own country down when she could have just kept going or applied for protection. But she would never wish that eventuality on anyone.

"Oh… that's…"

"Yeah," John said, acknowledging Alex's shocked reaction.

"So, Sherlock doesn't know?"

"No. As far as he knows, Irene is on a witness protection scheme in America. I saw Mycroft earlier and he told me the whole thing. Given how… I don't know… devastated he was when he thought Irene was dead the last time; we both thought that Sherlock shouldn't know. Mycroft said that he was 'thorough' this time and she is definitely dead."

Alex still wasn't sure about how to feel. They both laid down minutes later and continued staring at the sky. She wasn't sure if it was the cold or the news about The Woman, but she felt rather numb.

John had to shake her to wake her from her trance God knows how long later. They made their way back home and they bade each other goodnight in the hallway. Alex noticed that Mrs Hudson had left her cleaning case by the staircase so she let herself into her landlady's flat to place it by the kitchen table. Mrs Hudson had fallen asleep in her comfy chair with a half knitted pink sock on her lap, snoring loudly.

Sniggering to herself and resisting the urge to grab her BlackBerry to film the spectacle, Alex decided to retire for the night.

Before John had gone upstairs, Alex swore that she could hear raised voices from above and her name being mentioned.

Mrs Hudson's door was still open and she was well aware that Sherlock could always tell when someone was earwigging. Leaving Mrs Hudson's door open so that no noise could be heard (the landlady wouldn't be able to hear, being so soundly asleep); she crept in her slipper-covered feet towards the bottom of the stairs. Thank goodness for the soft treads, for any other shoe, or even barefoot, would cause the slightest sound that could notify Sherlock of his eavesdropper. The stairs were very creaky so she didn't ascend. Taking hold of the banister, Alex strained to hear the conversation.

"…is this about the solar system again, John?"

"Sherlock, Alex was on the roof stargazing. I mentioned it because that is actually the case and it wasn't a prompt about how well you know the bloody solar system."

"John, I don't care what she was doing on the roof."

"Fine. I just thought you ought to know about it because of how she's feeling."

"Why would I care about how Alex is _feeling_?" Sherlock asked with distain. Alex felt a slight pain in her heart. She always thought that although Sherlock cared little for people, she was one of the few he did hold some regard for. Then she remembered that their last meeting ended on a sour note.

"You don't care that she's hurting?"

"She got herself into the mess she's in. As I have said before, John, if you had been listening; caring doesn't help save people. Why should I care about Alex's heart when that won't help mend it? I tried to give her some well-meant advice and she told me to leave her flat."

"Well-meant advice? You were being bloody insensitive! Still, what else is new?"

"It was a logical suggestion and if she had accepted it in the manner that it was intended she would not have felt the compulsion to partake in the pointless pastime that is 'stargazing'."

Several seconds of silence followed. Alex felt like interrupting and apologising to Sherlock. She knew and understood his way of thinking and the fact that he had given advice was the equivalent of a hug and a cup of tea from John Watson. It was fair to say that for the first time in a few weeks, she felt bad about her attitude towards him.

Just as she was about to return to her flat, John spoke again.

"You know she feels rather bad about the case."

"I know," Sherlock stated.

"How would you know?"

"She hasn't spoken to me or looked me in the eye for several weeks, and she hasn't blogged about the case. It is not conceivable that only her contempt for suggesting she assisted on the case and the ridiculous way she interpreted my offer of help resulted in avoiding me for this amount of time. Her coyness and posture suggests a feeling of insecurity and she has declined to assist with other cases. She wasn't in love with Carina Musgrave, or Katherine Parker, whichever you prefer, so pure unbridled heartbreak, nor negative feelings in my direction, would fully account for her actions."

Alex couldn't see them but she was sure that John was staring at him with an open mouth for a while. She herself was astounded by his deductions, as she always was.

"How… how did you know that Alex wasn't in love?"

"Because her exact words to Carina were 'I can't fall in love with you.' If she had fallen in love, her words would have come out differently. When people are in compromising or vulnerable situations you find that the most obvious honesty is behind their literal meaning of their words. Of course she feels that she let us down. That's because she did."

A tear threatened to fall from Alex's eye after hearing Sherlock say it. She knew she had failed but to hear it from the cleverest detective in the world just made it all too raw.

"I know she cocked up, Sherlock. But, seriously, you can't… I don't know, hate her because of it."

"Hate? I don't hate her, John. I just overestimated her capabilities before the case and now I know that she won't be an asset in future cases. Particularly ones that involve being undercover."

That was it. The straw that broke the camel's back. Alex had a notion for some time that her presence with cases only held them back. No more; she would participate with the mysteries no more. Sherlock would never ask her again, anyway. John still had faith in her but Sherlock didn't. Alex's faith in her own self and confidence was truly dented. She gripped the banister harder, to the point that her knuckles went pink and her fingers went white.

Before she could control herself, Alex let out a small sob. Immediately, she realised that she had given her presence away and she had to make herself scarce. But as she opened her door, she heard John call down to her.

"Alex? Alex, I'm sorry. You heard all of that, didn't you?"

He came down the stairs and approached her. His sympathy was always welcome when Alex felt down. Yet, she didn't want him to waste his energy on her.

"Thanks for sticking up for me. It's fine. He doesn't think much of me anymore and I doubt he ever will, so I'm just going to keep my head down and concentrate in getting on with my writing, so I can move out sooner rather than later. Please tell him that he won't have to put up with me much longer."

John didn't say a word. Alex was sure that he was rather shocked by what she had said. Mitzie sensed her mummy was sad and 'gifted' Alex her soft toy mouse as soon as Alex was slumped on the sofa in a flood of tears. Alex scooped her up and snuggled her close.

"Thanks, Mit. You – and Molly – are my best friend. I swear that we won't be in this place much longer. Once I get my next royalty cheque, I'll start looking for a nice big country house where you can explore the outdoors, and I'll get you a little playmate."

The royalty cheque in question conveniently arrived a week later. Alex had accumulated over £50,000 from the sales of both her books and, if her earnings continued she could buy a large country house with several fields. Her dream of having her own menagerie could soon become a reality.

As she had predicted, Sherlock didn't speak to her. Alex still felt the need to apologise for both her refusal of advice and her mistake. However, she couldn't forget the fact that he thought less of her. It was similar to the feeling Alex experienced when her ex said that she had fallen out of love with her.

Mrs Hudson invited Alex to a Sunday lunch at her sister's house in Surrey at the beginning of April. As far as she knew, it would only be Alex, Mrs Hudson, her sister and her husband. It would be a relaxing day and Alex was grateful that her landlady was much more like family to her. Although she probably wouldn't have contact with Sherlock again, she knew that she would always remain good friends with John and Mrs Hudson.

Alex utilised a little of the fortune she had acquired, in addition to her already large amount in her bank account, and paid for her and Mrs Hudson to be taken by a luxury taxi firm so that they could travel in comfort and style.

Once they disembarked from the lovely black Jaguar (spookily similar to Mycroft Holmes' preferred method of transportation), Alex's face fell.

Sherlock was stood outside Mrs Hudson's sister's house with the type of smirk on his face that made Alex want to slap him. John smiled awkwardly at her, knowing that she had been unaware of their invitation.

"Well, I got a bit sick of the animosity between you two!" Mrs Hudson said when she noticed the exchange of looks between them. "It's about time you sorted it out, and enough talk from you about moving away. I know that's what you want but don't let this one here make that decision for you."

"I made no such decision. Alex is responsible for her own –"

"Enough!" Mrs Hudson barked. Never before had Alex heard the sweet lady assume such an authoritative tone. "Let's just have a pleasant lunch. You two… just be civil towards one another."

Lunch was pleasant enough but Alex completely ignored the consulting detective, who was as bored as the dictionary definition of the word. After a large serving of roast beef, Yorkshire puddings and a follow up of apple pie and custard (which Sherlock ate a large amount of, compared to the nibbles he took from his main meal), Alex couldn't stand the feeling of being judged anymore. She offered to wash up, partly out of politeness but partly to get out of the dining room.

"Need a hand?" came a deep, raspy voice from behind her. Its owner was so close that she could feel his breath ghost over her hair. Sherlock had a creepy way of sneaking up on people and they wouldn't notice until he was too close for comfort.

"No, thank you," she said indifferently and continued the washing up.

"Are you sure?"

"Sure."

Sherlock moved so he was standing to her left and blatantly began to scrutinise her washing skills. Alex tolerated his presence, but she really wanted him to leave her alone.

"You haven't looked me in the eye in six weeks."

"Yes I have."

"No. You've give fleeting looks at my face. You're the one avoiding any kind of meeting, so do you want to tell me what it's all about?"

His tone sounded almost understanding. Alex paused with her gloved hands in the hot water.

"You know what it's all about. I heard you."

"Yes, I know. But do you think that means that I suddenly don't want you around, or that I've began to dislike you?"

This question stumped Alex. Sherlock disliked just about everything and anyone unless they held an inexplicable fascination to him.

"Well, you said that I wouldn't be an asset in the future. That hurt."

"You did fail, though. I can't just ignore that. That's why I haven't asked for your assistance since."

"Because you don't trust me," Alex said, turning so she locked her eyes with his for the first time in the weeks following the case.

"No, it's –"

"Yes, it's because of one mistake. _One mistake_," Alex said, holding up her index finger to make a point. They then both noticed that she had flicked some bubbles onto Sherlock's face, making him wince. The the mood changed. Alex laughed uncontrollably before offering her apologies, albeit hidden behind high-pitched giggles.

"Ah!" Sherlock exclaimed, wiping his face with the back of his hand. His expression seemed superficially serious. Alex, however, could read that he too saw the funny side. "That's not the interaction I was anticipating this afternoon."

"Sorry," Alex said again, resuming the washing up with a grin still spread across her face. "Sherlock, I _get_ that you need all your cases to succeed without idiots getting involved and cocking it up, fine. But how many times have I helped you? How many times have I got things right compared to how many times I have made mistakes?"

Sherlock poked his tongue around his mouth in contemplation of her questions. He was about to answer before Alex continued her rant.

"I didn't fail because of sentiment obstructing my judgement. My bag was open and she saw the wire. Yes, I should have closed the bag. But you know that phrase that when a butterfly flaps its wings a hurricane starts… wherever it is in the world? It was simple human error that cost you and the Met and, believe me, I am very, very sorry. I really do regret it. But that doesn't mean that I'm useless."

Alex even surprised herself with her self-belief. She knew from the places that she worked at that errors were inevitable and nobody was perfect.

"Mistakes can be major or minor and sometimes the most minor of mistakes could have major repercussions," she continued. Sherlock seemed to have absorbed her words and affirmed that by nodding.

"I see your logic in that statement. Alex," he said, pulling her arm slightly so that she faced him once again, "I don't think you're useless. Of course, you aren't a genius, but you're one of the most capable I know. You know that I enjoy the thrill of the chase more than the apprehending of a suspect. It was an enjoyable case and I'm sure you found it even more so."

Alex could see the smirk on his face. He had heard Katherine moaning Alex's name and the writer could read the meaning in his eyes. She instantly blushed and dipped her head. He laughed a little before touching her shoulder lightly and leaving the room as silently as he had entered it.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Alex relaxed with the knowledge that her rift with Sherlock had been cleared and the ice had been broken. To a certain extent. She knew that he still had trust in her but she would have to build it back up to how it was before.

"Well, I'm glad you two have made up!" Mrs Hudson squeaked once Alex came back into the dining room. She gave Sherlock a brazen look then followed it up with a smile, which he reciprocated.

"So, you're not moving out, then?" John asked, eager for the answer.

"Um. Not now, John. One day, though."


	48. Henry Knight's Story

**Hello! Thank my stars that the period of ASIB is over and now we are plunging into HOTB. I wanted to give Alex a pro active role without interrupting the story so I hope that I've done it well! Thanks as ever to my beta and good friend Holly who has helped come up with ideas. Also to my other friend Anna for her reviews and support. Enjoy!**

**Update: This story is on hiatus for the foreseeable future. This is because I am working on my first novel and this needs to take priority. I don't know if I will even return to this story but I hope to in a few months time. Thank you for reading and sorry to leave it at such a suspenseful moment. **

Several months passed where Alex took a backseat from cases. Although she and Sherlock were on speaking terms and she still had tea and dinner regularly with him and John, she declined to assist them.

It wasn't that she found herself incapable, but rather that she had neglected her number one priority of writing and her publisher had put some pressure on her to finish her third novel by the end of June, so that it could be released later in the year. Alex believed she had thought of a fantastic sequel to her first novel and had become rather absorbed by it.

John was happy to give an opinion on her first drafts, as was Mrs Hudson; but Alex preferred John's views because he gave a critical response as opposed to the lovely landlady who couldn't bring herself to saying anything constructive.

Lunch at Speedy's whilst typing profusely was becoming a ritual for her. The staff knew her well and often allowed her to take a free salad home for her dinner. Trips to the gym in the mornings were becoming daily, rather than four times a week. She had managed to get John to join the gym as well and they often worked out together, but Sherlock's experiments and habits of using John as a 'puppet' for his own research meant that John often had to stay home to supervise him.

Summer was at its peak when Alex finally found time to relax after submitting her first draft. On an oddly chilly Thursday morning, just as she was leaving for the gym, Sherlock burst through the door of 221 at such a speed that Alex had to throw herself against the fireplace to avoid him cannoning into her. A good thing too, because the detective was carrying a very long, thin harpoon and several splashes of blood covered his shirt and face.

"Oh, Jesus!" she gasped. Had Sherlock been injured? The chances of that were slim as the harpoon was also covered in blood and it would be unlikely that he would be injured by a weapon that was in his possession. Plus, he didn't show any obvious signs of injury and the pattern of the splashes showed that he had more than likely harpooned someone, or an animal, rather than being the harpooned one himself.

"Sherlock, are you all right? What the hell have you been up to this morning?" Alex called up to him as he ran up the stairs. He was without his jacket and coat and must have been freezing cold.

Just as the door to his and John's flat was thrust open with a bang, Alex ran up the stairs after him. Sherlock was stood in the doorway, panting slightly. John had been busy reading several newspapers that morning, which were scattered everywhere. He stared at Sherlock with wide eyes but, as Alex saw, he too applied the detective's astute methods and deduced that the blood was not Sherlock's.

"You went on the tube like that?" John asked incredulously.

Sherlock gritted his teeth before answering in an irritated tone. "None of the cabs would take me!"

"Not surprised!" Alex chimed. She took a step back when the detective threw her a look that said, 'Are you still here?'

Knowing that boredom was fast creeping up on him (she knew his body language and facial expressions rather well now), Alex departed to go to the gym.

An hour and a half later, Alex had arrived home. As she approached the door, a young man was waiting by it, nervously shaking. He was pale and had ketchup stains on the corners of his mouth. He was a smoker, for his fingers were stained yellow, but there wasn't a hint of the smell of smoke on him.

"Can I help you?"

"Oh! Erm… yes. I, er, need to see Mr Sherlock Holmes."

A client. A rather anxious and desperate client.

"Okay, have you rang the doorbell?"

"N-no." The man raised his finger and pressed the middle button.

"I was going to say that I can let you in. I live in the basement flat."

"Oh! You're the writer?"

"Yes, I am…"

The door opened ad John appeared behind it.

"Have you forgotten your key, Alex?"

"No, I just came back and this bloke was here," she answered.

"Sorry, sir, I didn't realise she lived here before I rang it."

"It's quite all right, Mr…?" John queried.

"Knight. Henry Knight," The man said slowly. John shook his hand and stepped aside to allow them to enter.

Henry and John went upstairs whilst Alex sorted her post. There were several for Sherlock, for he seldom checked if he had any. John used to check it on Sherlock's behalf but due to the accumulation of unopened mail in their flat, or the number of letters impaled by a jack knife on the mantelpiece, he now left Sherlock's mail alone. Alex guessed that the detective could tell a bill from a letter from a potential client and a cheque from an invoice, just by looking at the stationary.

Sighing at Sherlock's lack of regard for basic requirements, she picked up the ten-letter-thick pile and took it upstairs. Client, or no client, Alex didn't care.

She knocked on the door out of politeness for Henry's sake, to find that John was inserting a DVD into the player.

"Um, mail for you both."

John took them from her with light gratitude and she turned to leave them to it. But before she could take a step onto the landing, Sherlock spoke to her.

"I think Mr Knight here would like a cup of tea, Alex."

"Then make him one," she retorted and proceeded to leave the flat.

"But your teas are the best!" Sherlock called out. Alex held onto the door frame and turned back around. He was grinning at her with the most adorably cute look on his face. Alex knew his manipulative streak well. John was staring at Sherlock as if his personal tea-making skills were being declared as mediocre. Alex sighed, placed her free hand on her hip and grinned back at him.

"You know full well that puppy dog eyes won't work on me."

Sherlock furrowed his brow as if to doubt her statement. A few minutes of amused yet awkward silence followed. Henry was still slightly open-mouthed and seemed to be crying out for a cup of tea.

Thinking of the well-being of the man in the flat rather than Sherlock's attempts to manipulate the situation, Alex asked Henry if he would like a cup of tea. He accepted and so Alex went to make tea for all four of them.

The DVD that Henry had brought for Sherlock and John to watch was a recording of a documentary that he had been a part of. When he was a child, he witnessed his father being murdered. He lived in Dartmoor, not far from a facility called Baskerville, which had a reputation for genetic experiments and conspiracies ran high amongst the town-folk about animals that had been engineered for battle. The rumours were that they had been let loose and one had been responsible for the death of Henry's father.

Just as Henry was about to describe the events onscreen, and Alex had set the tea down on the tables, Sherlock abruptly switched off the telly. Henry gawped at both the screen and Sherlock in order, as did Alex and John.

"What did you see?"

"Oh, I… I was just about to say," Henry said innocently, looking back at the television.

"Yes, in a TV interview. I prefer to do my own editing," Sherlock said, placing his fingertips together beneath his chin. Alex had at first thought that switching off the programme was rather rude but she couldn't deny that his reasoning was sound.

Henry agreed and prepared himself to tell his story. Although it was at least twenty years ago, the events were clearly still raw in his mind. Henry blew his nose and took a few sips of tea. John and Sherlock began to get rather frustrated and urged him to continue.

"Hey, let him take his time," Alex said to them both, which was met by a reprimanding glare from John. Henry found his feet and leant forward in his chair to tell his story.

"Do you know Dartmoor, Mr Holmes?" he asked. Sherlock confirmed he had not. "It's an amazing place. It's like nowhere else. It's sort of bleak but… beautiful."

Sherlock responded instantly, boredom lacing his tone and without shifting his position in his chair. "Hmm. Not interested, moving on."

Henry acknowledged this and continued. "We used to go for walks after my Mum died, my dad and me. Every evening we'd go out onto the moor."

Alex and John listened attentively. The story started to ignite Alex's imagination and she found herself strolling over vast terrains of wilderness, rocks and trees. However, it was soon interrupted by Sherlock's indifferent voice.

"Yes, good. Skipping to the night that your dad was violently killed. Where did that happen?"

John exchanged glances with Alex in exasperation of the detective's blatant rudeness and lack of empathy. Still, they had both come to accept him and knew that his methods were purely for finding the answer to the riddle and not to be deliberately insensitive.

Henry went on telling his story but, at that point, found that he could not look any of them in the eye. He glanced down at his fingers and took another few sips of tea.

"There's a place. It's a sort of local landmark called Dewer's Hollow." He looked back up to Sherlock as he carefully enunciated the name of the landmark, as if Sherlock would know where it was. The detective shrugged and tilted his head to show that he didn't have a clue and needed more information.

The name Dewer's rang a little bell in Alex's mind. Her memory had always been good and she could easily recall that she had heard its meaning before.

"That's an old fashioned word for 'devil.'" she remarked, receiving looks from all three men.

"Did you see the devil that night, Henry?" John asked. Henry nodded, turning to the doctor, his green eyes wide with an old fear coming to the surface.

"Yes, it was huge. Coal black fur with red eyes," he recalled slowly, staring vacantly at John. "It got him. Tore at him. Tore him apart! I can't remember anything else. They found me the next morning just wandering on the moor. My dad's body was never found."

"You're still haunted by this memory, Henry," Alex commented. Henry nodded and looked away. She was sceptical that it was a case of Henry's father being killed by a 'monster'. The story evoked other tales of big cats in the British countryside, the Loch Ness Monster and Sasquatch. Such stories had been reported but never substantiated. The fantastical side of her imagination desperately wanted to believe, but the logical and practical side was strongly opposed to it.

"Are you sure about what you saw? It wasn't a person with maybe… red tinted glasses or something? It was dark, maybe you couldn't see properly. With respect and all due sympathy, Henry, this could be due to suggestion. Your father may have been murdered by a human being wearing black," Alex said. Sherlock looked curiously at her and then to John.

"Yeah, but if he saw something enormous with red eyes and coal black fur, it must have been an animal. Some sort of giant dog? Wolf?" John asked the detective.

"Or a genetic experiment?" Sherlock said in a dramatic whisper. He laughed to himself slightly, staring into the distance. This aggravated Henry, who was still haunted by the death of his father and the loss of a loved one.

"Are you laughing at me, Mr Holmes?"

"Why, are you joking?" the detective replied rudely. Alex felt like giving him a kick, but the look on Henry's face was enough. He was hurt. Deeply hurt and angry, yet his voice remained calm.

"My Dad was always going on about the things they were doing at Baskerville. About the type of monsters they were breeding there. People used to laugh at him. At least the TV people took me seriously."

"I assume did wonders for Devon tourism," Sherlock responded in the same antisocial tone. Alex was ready to intervene, but John ignored his best friend's cruel demeanour and turned to Henry, adopting his 'doctor's voice'. "Yeah. Henry, whatever did happen to your father, it _was_ twenty years ago. Why come to us now?"

Henry was still focused on Sherlock and looked positively offended. "I'm not sure you can help me, Mr Holmes, since you find it all so funny!"

Henry got up and went to leave the room. Alex didn't blame him and got up to go with him. She held out her arm to reassure him. Sherlock, of course, wasn't going to let a client go that easy.

"Because of what happened last night…" he remarked, answering John's question.

"Why? What happened last night?" John asked.

This had the desired effect and Henry stopped before he reached the door. He turned to stare at the detective, hardly believing what he was hearing. "How… how do you know?"

"I didn't _know_, I noticed," Sherlock answered.

"There's a reason his website is called The Science of Deduction, Henry," Alex told him gently.

Sherlock threw her a 'hut up and let me speak' look before addressing Henry again.

"Came up from Devon on the first available train this morning. You had a disappointing breakfast and a cup of black coffee. The girl in the seat across the aisle fancied you. Although you were initially keen, you've now changed your mind. You are, however, _extremely anxious_ to have your first cigarette of the day. Sit down, Mr Knight. And do _please_ smoke, I'd be delighted."

Henry still looked dumbfounded. Alex wondered if he had ever fully closed his mouth since his arrival at the flat. He reminded her very vividly of Darren Wallace. However, it was clear that Henry was of higher intelligence. She was grateful at that moment that Sherlock was not present when Darren had come to the flat for help.

The young man slowly sat back down in John's red chair but did not seem any more comfortable than he had been fifteen seconds before.

"How on Earth did you notice all that?" he asked.

"Uh oh…" Alex muttered under her breath. John expressed his mutual anxiety at this open invitation but, of course, Sherlock completely disregarded his friends' concerns. He expanded on his earlier deductions and spoke so quick that the people in the room had to strain to absorb each observation.

"Punched-out holes where your ticket's been checked –"

"Enough already!" Alex interrupted firmly whilst John said that now was _not _the moment at the same time.

The detective was defiant as always. "Oh, please! I've been cooped up in here for ages."

"You're just showing off!" John reprimanded.

"Of course. I _am_ a show-off. That's what we do!"

Alex sighed, looked at Sherlock and shook her head slowly. The grown man beside her was nothing more than a large child. _At least he admits he's a show-off_, Alex thought.

"Train napkin you used to mop up the spilled coffee, strength of the stain shows that you didn't take milk. There are traces of ketchup on it and round your lips and your sleeve. Cooked breakfast. Or the nearest thing those trains can manage, probably a sandwich."

"How did you know it was… disappointing?" Henry said with a nervous chuckle.

"Is there any other type of breakfast on a train?" Sherlock asked sarcastically. "The girl; female handwriting's quite distinctive; wrote her phone number down on the napkin. I can tell from the angle she wrote at that she was sat on the other side of the aisle. Later, after she got off, I imagine, you used the napkin to mop up your spilled coffee accidentally smudging the numbers. You've been over the last four digits yourself with another pen, so you wanted to keep the number. Just now, though, you used the napkin to blow your nose. Maybe you're not that into her after all. Then there's the nicotine stains on your fingers, your shaking fingers. I know the signs. No chance to smoke on the train, no time to roll one before you got a cab here. It's just after nine-fifteen, you're desperate. The first train from Exeter to London leaves at five forty-six A.M. You got the first one possible, so something important must have happened last night. Am I wrong?"

It was, without doubt, one of the most impressive deductions Alex had ever heard. Sherlock announced the last three words as if to dare Henry to tell him otherwise. The young man's face was a picture of shock and surprise, still with the mouth slightly open. He sighed a little before confirming that Sherlock was right. Completely, exactly right. The detective looked rather pleased with himself.

"Bloody hell, I heard you were quick –"

"It's my job," Sherlock interrupted. If Alex didn't know better, that was a little bit of modesty. He leant forward, still keeping eye contact with Henry. "Now, shut up and smoke!"

John looked at Alex and turned so that he was facing square onto Henry. Sherlock maintained his hunched position at the edge of his chair, ringing his hands and staring at Henry's hands as he rolled a cigarette, with a longing and desperate need to have one.

"Henry," John began, "your parents both died and you were, what seven years old? I know, but…" The doctor stopped as Sherlock stood up, albeit with a stoop, and took one step towards Henry. He inhaled the fumes deeply before sitting back down. Henry looked positively alarmed. Sherlock relished the smoke in his lungs and rubbed his hands together.

"Sherlock…?" Alex said. She couldn't continue as John had clearly made some observations that he wished to voice.

"That must be quite a trauma. Have you ever thought that maybe you invented this story, this…" e hesitated for a moment as Sherlock repeated his inhalation from earlier. "…to account for it?"

"That's what Doctor Mortimer says," Henry answered, mildly ignoring Sherlock's eccentricities.

"Who?" John asked.

Both Sherlock and Henry confirmed that Doctor Mortimer was Henry's therapist in unison.

"Obviously," Sherlock remarked with a smile.

"Louise Mortimer," Henry said, appearing to grow more tolerant and accustomed to Sherlock's manner with each passing second. "She's the reason I came back to Dartmoor. She thinks I have to… face my demons."

"What _did_ happen last night?" Alex asked both Henry and Sherlock. The latter didn't turn to look at her but flicked his eyes in her direction.

"That is exactly the question I was about to ask Mr Knight. What happened when you went back to Dewer's Hollow last night, Henry? You went there on the advice of your therapist and now you're consulting a detective. What did you see that changed everything?"

Henry looked thoughtful for a moment before he answered, still with his cigarette between his fingers.

"It's a strange place, the Hollow. Makes you feel so cold inside, so afraid."

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, if I wanted poetry I'd read John and Alex's emails to their girlfriends, much funnier." The two mentioned people in the room sighed with annoyance. Had Sherlock used or hacked Alex's laptop? It would be easy for him to commandeer John's, but Alex's? She felt like interrogating the man, if that was at all possible. "What did you see?"

"Footprints," Henry answered. "On the exact spot where I saw my father torn apart."

Sherlock threw his body back into his chair dramatically. Only Alex and John maintained interest.

"Did you recognise them?" Alex asked.

"Where they a man or a woman's?" John asked.

"Neither. They were –"

"Is that it? Nothing else?" Sherlock interjected rudely. "Footprints. Is that all?"

"Yes, but they were –" Henry tried to continue.

"No, sorry, Doctor Mortimer wins, childhood trauma masked by an invented memory. Boring! Goodbye, Mr Knight. Thank you for smoking," Sherlock interrupted coldly.

"But what about the footprints?" Henry asked, making an attempt to regain the detective's interest.

"Oh, well, they're probably paw-prints, could be anything, therefore nothing," Sherlock dismissively observed. He then stood up and appeared to 'shoo' Henry away with a flick of his hands. "Off to Devon with you. Have a cream tea on me."

Sherlock strode into the kitchen with the determination of a man on a mission, but Henry's next words caused him to stop him in his tracks.

"Mr Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!"

Sherlock turned about and asked Henry to repeat.

"I found footprints, they were…"

"No, no, no, your exact words. Repeat your exact words from a moment ago, exactly as you said them."

Henry did so, rather tentatively.

Sherlock held his hand up in front of him and paused for a moment. "I'll take the case."

"What?" Alex asked.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, it's very promising," Sherlock told Henry.

"No, no, no. Sorry, what? A minute ago footprints were boring, now they're very promising?" John asked with a hint of frustration.

"It's got nothing to do with footprints. As ever, both of you, you weren't listening."

"Excuse me, we have been listening!" Alex argued firmly.

"Evidently not," Sherlock retorted. He then turned to John. "Baskerville, ever heard of it?"

"Vaguely. It's very hush-hush."

"Sounds like a good place to start," Sherlock said.

"Ah, you'll come down, then?" Henry asked.

"No, I can't leave London at the moment, far too busy. But don't worry; I'm putting my best people onto it," he said as he patted both Alex and John's shoulders simultaneously. "Always rely on John to send me all the relevant data and Alex to make a work of fiction out of it since they never understand a word of it themselves."

"I am _not_ going!" Alex announced, standing up defiantly. "I've not taken part in cases lately and I don't really want to."

Although she hated leaving her comfort zone, especially at short notice, Alex couldn't deny that the adventurous side of her was contradicting her words. Sherlock's eyes penetrated her mind, knowing that she did indeed crave the thrill of a case once again.

"You _will_ go. I know you will," Sherlock muttered to her under his breath.

"Okay. But what are you talking about, you're busy?" John questioned. "You don't have a case. A minute ago you were complaining –"

"Bluebell, John! I've got Bluebell. Case of the vanishing glow-in-the-dark rabbit. NATO's in uproar!" Sherlock exclaimed.

"Oh, so you're not coming?" Henry asked, obviously despondent.

"You know that we can't crack the case without you," Alex added.

What happened next Alex really wished she had captured on camera. Sherlock gave his best ever puppy-dog eyes look at them both, poking out his bottom lip and shaking his head with false innocence. He looked at John and Alex in turn and the latter had no idea what his game was.

"What?" she asked as his eyes stared down on her. Turning to John, he emphasised his little look more until it had the desired effect. Although, Alex didn't know what that was.

"Oh…" John sighed, turning to Henry and grinning slightly. It wound Alex up sometimes at how easily Sherlock could wrap the former army-doctor round his little finger.

"Okay," John said as he stood up and approached the mantelpiece. He lifted Sherlock's beloved skull 'Billy' to reveal a packet of cigarettes underneath. John had clearly been hiding them from the detective.

John shook the packet as if to rub it in his friend's face that they were in such an obvious place and he hadn't even bothered to look there. Or, had he? Sherlock was practically the definition of the word 'enigma'.

After John threw them at Sherlock, who caught them as if his hands were cigarette magnets, he immediately threw them in the approximate direction of the sofa. His triumphant smile pretty much screamed 'slap me round the face.'

"I don't need those anymore, I'm going to Dartmoor. You go on ahead, Henry, we'll follow."

"So, you _are_ coming?" Henry asked. He was definitely confused at that point.

"A twenty-year-old disappearance, a monstrous hound? Wouldn't miss this for the world!"


	49. Grimpen Village

Being someone who cared about her appearance – although she wasn't vain and would rather be seen as 'neat' rather than 'trendy' – Alex was rather unhappy that she only had an hour to shower, pack and meet the boys outside. Still, she managed it well and felt a twinge somewhere around in her chest when she had to say a temporary goodbye to her beloved cat, which was particularly hard as Mrs Hudson hadn't had custody of Mitzie for four months.

Although happy to have the fully grown cat for a while, Mrs Hudson seemed rather busy and had only said a very fleeting goodbye to Alex before she marched, literally, to the front door and slammed it behind her. Alex didn't really know what to make of it but was glad that Mitzie had made a beeline for Mrs Hudson's comfy chair before the landlady stormed out. At least she had settled and would sleep for a few hours.

In the flat, Sherlock was dragging his bag with a scowl on his face that he often wore when John didn't do the heavy work for him. The former army Doctor would, of course, have his own baggage to handle.

Once outside, Sherlock hailed a cab and opened the door for Alex. Such gentlemanly actions were becoming more and more frequent and Alex sometimes wondered if his experiences with Irene Adler had made him more polite and selfless. However, it was sometimes debatable. The previous week, Sherlock had opened two letters in Alex's letterbox and not given them to her for three days. His excuse was that he was so interested by the fingerprints on one letter and the scent of mint on the other that he just _had_ to open them to investigate further. Alex had retaliated by placing the detective's collection of big toes in the food bin after covering them in ketchup so he couldn't use them for their original purpose. They had argued for three days before Sherlock began to understand that her actions were warranted and they sat down to a cup of tea as an undeclared truce.

Just as John approached the cab door, a loud thump on the window of Speedy's caught their attention. Mrs Hudson was inside, yelling at Mr Chatterjee, the owner. The man was standing opposite her, looking as if he was being given a ticking-off by his mother. In a fit of fury, Mrs Hudson had thrown something unrecognisable at the door which had bounced off, instantly drawing the attention of the three of them.

"Ooh. Looks like Mrs Hudson has _finally_ gotten to the wife in Doncaster!" John exclaimed with a touch of sarcasm.

"Mmm, wait until she hears about the one in Islamabad," Sherlock remarked.

"What?" Alex said as the other two got in, getting increasingly impatient when they ignored her

"_What_?" she repeated in a stroppy teenager-esque high-pitched whine.

"Nothing," John told her innocently.

If there was one thing Alex hated, it was being treated like a child despite her being in her mid-twenties. The boys often held back information and details on many things; cases and other matters alike. Maybe it was to protect her, which was understandable enough, but still, she insisted on being told everything and not being left out. It wasn't the subject; it was the principle of the matter. At Alex's insistence, John obliged her request for an answer.

"Erm, Mrs Hudson is seeing Mr Chatterjee. Sherlock told her this morning that he is married and his wife lives in Doncaster. He has another in Islamabad but Mrs Hudson doesn't know about her yet."

Sherlock smiled triumphantly at John's confession, whilst John looked completely embarrassed.

Curiosity was always better than the actual knowing and Alex was sure that she actually could have done without knowing that information. Resigning herself to complete silence for the remainder of the journey, she sat back and stared out of the window on route to Paddington station.

Once at the station, Sherlock had advised his colleagues to purchase one way tickets as they would not know their return date until the case was over.

Alex and John feared that Sherlock would become very bored on the journey but actually, he was the complete opposite. He sat square in his seat, staring into the distance and remaining quiet – until they approached Exeter.

"We'll need to hire a Jeep," Sherlock suddenly blurted out, whipping out his mobile and typing at what seemed to be the speed of light.

"Sorry?" John spluttered.

"Baskerville is an army base, John. You of all people should know that. One can't just saunter up to its entrance in a hatchback. A four-by-four is required on this occasion. Ah! There's a car hire company that has just the vehicle five minutes from the station."

A taxi took them to the car hire company. Alex found herself rather distracted by a beautiful Aston Martin DB9 and wished she had been alone so she could have test-driven it.

John stayed by his friend's side, yet Alex saw from the corner of her eye and the perfect reflection in the Aston's flawless metallic purple shine that the doctor was becoming rather exasperated with his friend's rude attitude to the Customer Advisor.

Finally, they were all seated in a large, black Range Rover. Alex protested at being told to get in the backseat; she felt like a child again but didn't want to start an argument so she sulked in the back like a sulking child, poking her bottom lip out.

Once they were immersed in the beautiful Devonshire countryside, Alex forgot that she was in the back of a Range Rover with the world's only Consulting Detective and his trusty sidekick. Although Sherlock drove at the national speed limit, Alex took in all of the scenery and was spellbound at how green and vast the countryside was. She was sure that if she'd had a bird's eye view of the place, it would look like a patchwork quilt made out of every shade of green and yellow. It was sunny and reasonably warm, but there was a cool breeze so Alex wound down the window, completely disregarded the purpose of their journey for the twenty minute trip and filled her lungs with the wonderful clean air.

They stopped by the side of the road when the sat nav indicated that they were close to Baskerville. A large, rocky landmark was visible in the distance and Sherlock climbed it so quick that Alex barely had time to comprehend that he had scaled the monument when she saw him standing majestically at its peak.

Several hilly fields away, a site with big white warehouse-type buildings, chimneys and the like could be seen. It was obviously Baskerville. John stayed on the ground and opened a map to point out the site. From it, he was able to confirm the location of Dewer's Hollow. It was sunk very deep into the ground in the forest. It was difficult to see in the sunlight, so Alex ventured further forward to see it more clearly. It was rather spooky-looking and enticing to the writer in Alex. An irresistible pull was drawing her nearer. She vaguely heard the boys calling to one another and she noticed that to the right of Dewer's Hollow was a long, barbed wire fence with several skull and crossbones signs. Was it part of the Baskerville site? Maybe they needed to not only keep people out but make it obvious that they needed as wide a berth as possible. John called for Alex to come back before taking a couple of pictures, including one of Sherlock standing on the highest rock. They made their way back to the car and continued their journey to Grimpen Village, where Henry Knight lived.

A pub inn right in the heart of the village was the choice of accommodation: one single room for Alex and one twin room for John and Sherlock. Alex was glad she would have her own space and, upon entering the bright room, she immediately cleared the minibar of its complementary chocolate.

Sherlock, however, didn't check in. He had been busy absorbing the visual characteristics and data both within and outside the pub by listening to local gossip.

Alex joined John at the bar where he was paying for their rooms.

"It's neat!" Alex said merrily as she half-skipped to the bar. "Plenty of chocolate and tea."

"Yeah, but don't forget that we're here for a case, not for a holiday," John said in Alex's ear. Alex nodded in acknowledgement.

The fifty-something Scottish landlord Garry and his much younger civil partner Billy, seemed to be offended by that. Alex could perfectly understand for she, too, found whispering in front of people incredibly rude.

"Sorry," Alex apologised instantly and ordered a diet coke. Garry gave John the key to his room and apologised that he couldn't offer a double room for John and his flatmate.

"It's okay. We're not –" John started, once again protesting that he and Sherlock were not a couple. Alex had to bite back a laugh – Garry's face was a picture. He smiled with a look in his eye that told of many times that people had denied they were a couple when booking into his hotel. John seemed to give up caring at that point and handed Garry his room fee. As Garry went to get John's change, the former army Doctor's attention was caught by a number of invoices skewered by a thin metal spike. He nudged Alex as he tore off one of the receipts and passed it to her behind his back.

She turned around and took a look at the small piece of paper.

_Undershaw Meat Supplies_

The quantity noted on the receipt was a very large amount. Cross Keys pub and hotel was strictly vegetarian. What did they want with all that meat? Alex stuffed it into John's pocket and casually started on her coke. Sherlock was not far from them, surveying the crowd and gathering any piece of information he could.

"I couldn't help noticing on the map of the moor… a skull and crossbones?" John asked, trying to sound touristy.

"Oh, that!" Garry exclaimed. He pulled out some more pint glasses and seemed to check for prying ears.

"Pirates?" John asked.

"Eh, no, no. The Great Grimpen Minefield, they call it."

"Ah!" Alex sighed, realising at once what it meant.

"It's not what you think. It's the Baskerville testing site. It's been going for eighty odd years. I'm not sure anyone really knows what's there anymore."

"Explosives?" John asked.

"Oh, not just explosives. Break into that place and, if you're lucky, you just get blown up, so they say. In case you're planning a nice wee stroll."

"Has anyone ever been blown up at the site?" Alex asked.

"Not to my knowledge," Garry replied, "but I wouldn't like to say that it's never happened. Bloody minefield! Buggers up tourism a bit, so thank God for the demon hound! Did you see that show? The documentary?"

"Quite recently, yeah," John answered.

"Load of rubbish!" Alex chimed.

"Why do you say that?" Garry asked quickly.

"There's always a rational explanation. Hate to say it, but it's true. Humans are wired to _want_ to believe in anything 'other worldly' or 'supernatural'. But it's all rubbish."

John stared at Alex, not quite believing her rather opinionated attitude.

"What?" she asked.

"So, you're saying that Henry Knight is a liar?" Garry asked harshly. He clearly didn't like Alex.

"No, I'm not saying that at all. I believe him. I just think there's more than likely something rational and logical that could explain it. The documentary was just a sensationalised, dramatised show that was hyped up to make people believe. Fear and the possibility of things beyond expectation are things that drive people to watch such programmes."

Alex was still being gawped at for saying what she thought. Alex was rather sick of people making things seem more dramatic than they actually were. She _did_ have sympathy with Henry; the poor man had lost his father as a child, but she believed that Sherlock would discover the real truth. A plausible, Earthly explanation would surely help Henry come to terms with his loss and help him move on.

Clearly, Alex's speech wasn't appreciated so she departed the pub, noticing the approving smile from Sherlock. He, too, knew that there was more to the story.

Alex took up a seat at one of the benches and took some more lovely countryside air in. A young man whom Alex had seen earlier that day conducting 'Hound tours' was on his phone and carrying a large board with a very crude painting of the Hound.

Sherlock emerged from the pub a minute later and winked at Alex as he reached behind her to pick up a half-full glass of beer.

_Sherlock never drinks beer, what is he up to?_ Alex thought. With a flick of his head, Sherlock gestured for her to accompany him. He walked up to the young man, who had taken a seat at another bench.

"Mind if we join you?" Sherlock asked. The man pushed out his bottom lip and pointed to the bench to confirm that he didn't mind and Alex took a seat next to her friend. Sherlock sat closer to the man so he could talk to him.

"It's not true, is it? You haven't actually seen this… Hound thing?" Sherlock asked with a laugh. The man looked incredulous.

"You from the papers?"

"No. Nothing like that. Just curious." Alex loved seeing Sherlock in 'acting mode'. He could fool anybody. "Have you seen it?" he enquired further.

"Maybe," the man said, not turning around to look the Detective in the eye.

"Got any proof?"

"Why would I tell you if I did? Excuse me." He got up to leave just as John arrived.

"I called Henry…" John began, but was interrupted by Sherlock.

"Bet's off, John, sorry."

"What?" John and Alex asked simultaneously.

"Bet?" the man asked, suddenly interested.

"My plan needs darkness; I think we've got another half an hour of light…"

"Wait, wait. What bet?"

"Yeah, Sherlock, what bet?" Alex asked. Obviously there was a conversation that she had missed.

"Oh, I bet John here fifty quid that you couldn't prove you'd seen the Hound."

"Yeah, the guys in the pub said you could," John chimed in, quickly deducing that Sherlock was playing a game with the young man and it was wise to just play along. It took Alex a couple of seconds to cotton on to it, but she was already aware that she was slower than the boys, who seemed to have this unrivalled chemistry.

"Well, you're gonna lose your money, mate!" the man said. He seemed sure of himself. Alex was rather geared up for what would come next as she had convinced herself up until that point that there was no 'Hound'.

"Yeah?" Sherlock asked, faking inquisitiveness.

"Yeah," the man confirmed. "I seen it. Only about a month ago. Up at the Hollow. It was foggy, mind. Couldn't make much out."

"I see. No witnesses, I suppose? Never are."

The man then showed Sherlock a picture of what looked like a black dog in a forest. Alex was about to laugh when Sherlock beat her to it.

"Is that it? It's not exactly proof is it? Sorry, John, I win."

There was no way that the man was going to make himself look like an idiot. If he knew who he was talking to he would feel extremely embarrassed if he couldn't prove he'd seen the Hound.

"Wait, wait! That's not all. People don't like going up there, you know. To the Hollow. Gives them a bad sort of feeling."

"Ooh, is it haunted?" Sherlock asked sarcastically. "Is that supposed to convince me?"

"Nah, don't be stupid! Nothing like that! But I reckon there is something out there. Something from Baskerville. Escaped."

"A clone? Super-dog?" Sherlock asked, giggling a little. John expression and body language portrayed a similar demeanour to a parent whose child was being rather smart with one of their teachers but couldn't find the will to stop him.

"Maybe," the man agreed. "God knows what they've been spraying on us all these years, or putting in the water! I wouldn't trust them as far as I could spit."

"Is that the best you've got?" Sherlock asked, looking at the phone. He was eager to get the conversation moving and bring the matter to a close. The man took a breath and looked deadly serious. Alex had never witnessed the Detective so silent and attentive when listening to someone speak before, not even her or John.

The young man told them a story of how a friend, who worked for the MOD, turned up late for a fishing trip and when he arrived, he was as white as a sheet. He had been taken somewhere, either Baskerville or somewhere like it and seen terrible things. Rats as big as dogs and dogs the size of horses.

As soon as he was finished with his story, he reached into his backpack and pulled out a plaster cast of a _very_ large paw print. Sherlock looked positively annoyed. Annoyed that someone, an average man who had no idea who he was, had got the better of him.

"We did say fifty?" John confirmed. Sherlock pulled out fifty pounds from his wallet and threw it at John.

Then, a light flickered in Alex's head. The bet wasn't over.

"Wait!" she called to the man, who had started to walk away. "Come back. You two, don't get up," she said to the boys. Sherlock was already two metres away when he stopped to look at her. "What's your name?" Alex asked the man.

"Fletcher. Why?"

"Just want to know who we're talking to."

John had returned to his seat but Sherlock stayed where he was. Fletcher was standing next to the bench, refusing to move.

"What was the nature of the bet, again?" Alex asked Sherlock over her shoulder.

"You heard what it was, Alex," Sherlock answered grudgingly. Alex _did_ know, she just wanted someone to corroborate it.

"Fine. The bet was that you couldn't prove you'd _seen_ the Hound, Fletcher."

"Yeah, and I just proved it, didn't I?" Alex got the feeling she wasn't very popular in Grimpen at the moment.

"Erm, actually no."

"What you talking about? I proved it; sure as hell I proved it!" Fletcher argued. He was becoming angry now.

_Maybe I should stop trying to be clever and get to the point_, Alex thought.

"That cast could be anything. Anything at all. You could have found the prints and maybe they _were_ made by this Hound, but that doesn't prove you actually saw it. You could have got someone to make that; you could have fabricated the evidence. No, no, I'm not saying at any moment that you have. Just saying that while you have a small piece of evidence, that is not irrefutable proof that you have _seen_ the Hound yourself. Do you have anything that will?"

Sherlock had arrived back at the bench now but had not taken his seat. He stood behind Alex and John just looked dumbfounded. She knew that John would have given Sherlock back his fifty pounds once they were away from Fletcher, but she couldn't let this lie. Fletcher shook his head at Alex and was clearly secretly hoping that she would meet the Hound that night.

"Sorry, Fletcher, but you haven't convinced me. Has he convinced you, Sherlock?" Alex asked, looking up at him. He met her gaze, first with a touch of confusion but then he smiled and played along with her attempts to rumble the bet, as she had gone along with his decision to stage the bet.

"No. No, Fletcher, you haven't. I think that means you owe me one hundred pounds, John?"

The Detective said in a lighter-than-normal tone, smirking at his best friend. Fletcher had taken a couple of steps back and was completely silent, having been defeated. He shot daggers at Alex, who reciprocated with glee.

"No, I don't, Sherlock. I just owe you the fifty back," John said, holding it out. Sherlock kept his hands behind his back and didn't move an inch.

"No, John. The bet was for fifty, I gave you fifty, now you owe that back plus another fifty."

Alex felt a little sorry for John, but she knew that there wouldn't be any hard feelings between the two men. John fished in his wallet and drew out another fifty to hand to Sherlock, who took it gratefully.

Fletcher stormed off, muttering some expletive about Alex being a female Hound as the three friends set off in the direction of Henry Knight's house.


End file.
